Demon
by FlareX3
Summary: A powerful demon has been released from its ancient prison and has sought refuge within the body of a mage, biding its time as it regains its power. The only ones capable of stopping the monster are torn by diverging interests. Formerly "Across the World"
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I realized sometime down the line that the vision I had when I first began "Across the World" was far too grand in scale for someone of my skill, work ethic, and, most importantly, attention span to properly accomplish. As such, though I refuse to redo the entire thing, I have decided to take the story down a path it had accidentally taken and where, despite my best attempts, it remained.

Also, I have decided to combine the earlier chapters into one long piece. I'm glad I did, since, thanks to "spell check," I managed to find numerous grammatical and spelling errors. It made me cringe a bit reading through the earlier part of this work, so much so that I almost wanted to redo the whole thing, but that takes work… Besides, I have an irrational attachment to my belongings that remind me of the past.

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

David sat alone, three empty seats surrounding the table he currently occupied. He had opted to sit in the middle of the room so as to not draw unnecessary attention to himself, looking to all the world as a mere passerby enjoying a drink at the local tavern. He could hardly hear the din of the tavern's patrons, his eyes glazed over as he contemplated the road ahead of him. Almost unconsciously he reached out and finished the last of his drink before settling back in his chair. Though he looked like a road weary traveler, complete with travel stained cloak and walking staff, David was in fact much more. Truth be told, David was a mage of the Grey Order, returning from a task assigned to him by his superiors. He shivered involuntarily as he thought back on the ordeal, his hand moving to one of the pouches tied at his side, checking for umpteenth time that his "prize" was still secure.

A small group of religious fanatics were moving through the tavern, their self-mutilated bodies and gaunt faces posing a pitiful sight as they asked the tavern's patrons for alms. Everyone they asked gave quite generously, their superstition overcoming the urge to keep as much of the day's wage as possible. David rose from his seat and made a bee line for the doorway. Fanatics like these made him uneasy, especially considering what he currently had in his possession. Besides, he needed all the money he had left to ensure he could make it back to Altdorf without too much trouble.

Unfortunately, luck deserted David before he was even three steps closer to the exit. One of the fanatics noticed him and made to head him off. Sighing inwardly, David kept up the pretense of ignorance even as the fanatic closed in on him. Finally, he was forced to acknowledge the man, whether he wanted to or not, when the fanatic placed himself between David and the door.

A close up of the fanatic revealed a large number of gruesome scars, carved to emulate religious symbols, etched all across his body. He wore coarse and tattered clothing, seemingly made up from animal skin that had definitely seen better days. His sorry state was a testimony to his unshakable faith as most would believe, or as David thought, his unbelievable stupidity. The man raised a box toward David, imprinted upon it was the stylized image of Sigmar's comet.

"Brother, you have yet to make a donation."

"I'm sorry, but I have no money to spare," David replied, trying to side step the man. However, the man would not be deterred, moving once again to block David's way. _Damn these persistent bastards!_ David though vehemently.

"For your soul, brother," the man said, the box still held out expectantly in his hands. David noticed that the some of the other fanatics were beginning to notice him. Fuming, David realized he was defeated. He would rather suffer a bit of hardship on the road for lack of money then have a group of these fools preach to him about the virtue of charity for their cause. He reached towards his pouches, intending to give the man a few copper pieces before rushing out the door and into the cool night air. However, half way through pulling out his coins, a drunk stumbled into David, jostling his hands. The contents of several of his pouches clattered noisily onto the floor, and David bent to pick them up. So intent was he on cursing the drunk and fanatic at the same time, he failed to notice the fanatic's focus had completely shifted to an object that had fallen from David's pouches. However, David's attention was brought to the situation when he felt the fanatic's foot collide with his face as he lay stooped picking up his belongings.

The tavern quieted as the customers became an audience to the struggle between David and his assailant. The fanatic currently had David pinned on the ground, throwing savage punches at the disoriented mage. David was at a complete loss as to why the man had attacked him until he heard him scream,

"Demon worshipper! Damned follower of Chaos!" After that, David was no longer completely lost on why the man attacked him, rather, he was completely lost on what to do now. His assailant's companions were already moving surrounding him, pulling out a variety of crude clubs and knives. David threw the fanatic off, stumbling to his feet while attempting to put as much distance between the fanatics and himself as possible. His eyes caught sight of the cause of his woe, hardly several feet from where he now stood.

It was a small book compared to most, hard covered and bound with black leather. It was a common looking object except for one, glaring detail. Emblazoned in the middle of the book was the eight pointed star of Chaos, a demonic looking skull adorning its center, incriminating David as a heretic. Never mind the fact that the book was covered in numerous protective wards placed their by David himself, all these crazed fools saw was the symbol, and right now that was all that mattered.

One of the fanatics lunged, intending to skewer David upon a wicked looking knife. Thankfully, David's time spent with the Grey Order had bestowed upon him a slight proficiency with weapons, allowing him to turn aside the attack. Reaching for the sword hidden beneath his robes, he pulled it out and swung it in a wide arc. The fanatics stumbled away from the blade's biting reach, just as David had intended. These men were still citizens of the Empire, and David could not risk shedding innocent blood.

Moving as quickly as he could, he snatched up the book and ran straight for the door. Suddenly, a noise that sounded like thunder filled the room and David felt a slash of pain across his forehead. Instinctively he threw himself flat just as a second noise followed the first. A moan of pain escaped one of the fanatics as he crumpled to the floor, a crimson stream flowing from a wound in his chest. Turning his head, David saw the source of the noise.

A man stood several tables back, a pair of smoking pistols was held in his hands. A great coat covered most of his body, concealing whatever other weapons he may have. All across the man's attire were holy verses and protective wards betraying his profession, a witch hunter. Cursing, David jumped to his feet and rushed through the door, finally leaving that cursed tavern. He knew, without looking back, that the man was already after him.

* * *

The cool night air felt refreshing upon David's skin as he rushed through the darkened street. He might have taken time to enjoy the beauty of the still night if a crazed fanatic was not presently chasing him. This fact was further accentuated by the loud discharge of a pistol, followed by a chunk of brick chipping off the side of the building David had just swerved behind.

Thankfully, the fresh air was quickly clearing David's mind, the initial panic of being shot at was beginning to die down. The quick reprieve given to him by the cover of the building he now huddled against allowed David to search his mind for an appropriate spell. Exhaling a calming breath, he pulled the spell from his mind. Allowing himself a brief moment of satisfaction as power surged through him, David watched as his body began to fade from sight. Soon, David had disappeared completely, leaving only shadow and the meager light cast by the few street lamps.

David's pursuer rounded the corner, pistols at the ready. All that greeted him was the sight of an empty street. Through the veil of magic that hid him, David observed his pursuer. The witch hunter moved cautiously around the street, casting suspicious glances at every shadow. By sheer chance or ordained fate, the man inched ever closer to David's position, oblivious to the hidden mage. David knew he could not avoid confrontation for much longer. Drawing his sword in a deft motion, he lunged at the man, the spell concealing him fading away. With a cry of surprise the man fired his pistols erratically, busting a street lamp. The flame dies and part of their street is cast into shadow.

The sudden lack of light caused David's eyes to dilate. His sword swing came up several feet short, the momentum of the strike carrying him in a clumsy stumble. Before either of the men could react, they found themselves in a jumble upon the street. Lashing out blindly as his eyes began to adjust; David felt his fists collide with the street, his assailant's face, and the street again. A sudden, flashing pain upon his brow confirmed that his opponent was flailing blindly as well. David prayed to whatever powers out there that the man's pistols were either jammed or empty. The deafening cry of a pistol crushed that hope, along with part of his hearing. Another strike to his face caused lights to dance in front of David's eyes, a sickening feeling of nausea beginning to permeate his senses. _The damn witch hunter must be using the butt of his pistols_, David thought vehemently.

David knew he had to end this quick, his mind racing for a way. A second retort from one of the pistols destroyed coherent thought as its loud cry echoed within David's skull. But before David could reestablish his thoughts, a strangely comforting feeling of warmth was beginning to spread along the right side of his body.

As David fell sideways onto the street, he still could not grasp what had happened. Even as the witch hunter straightened up to full height, David's own sword grasped tightly within his right hand, David still could not comprehend the situation. But as the cold steel of the blade entered his midsection, David finally understood.

He had been shot. Not only that, he now had a sword sticking out of his body. As the waves of pain finally registered within his mind, David cried out, shattering the peaceful atmosphere of the night. David was no healer, but he knew the wounds would be fatal.

Despite the pain, David was a bit disappointed that he did not see his life flash before his eyes, instead only seeing the witch hunter pull the sword from him and cast it aside. All he saw was an ignorant zealot with smug satisfaction dancing in his eyes. It was a maddening sight. A mixture of emotions swept through David, even as he felt his own life leave him in the form of a sticky, red liquid. However, the most dominant was anger. All that mattered now was that David did not die alone.

Without thinking, David reached within one of his pouches.

David's hand grasped a rough, textured surface: leather binding. The mage felt compelled to use the tainted book's power as means of revenge against his opponent's ignorance. It felt so right that before he could even register the action, he dispelled the wards binding the artifact.

Immediately a chill settled upon the area, the remaining light of the street lamps doused by the sudden cold. An unsettling presence surrounded the two combatants, a strange stifling feeling accompanying it. A maddening scratching suddenly began in the back of David's mind. It seemed that the demonic entity that had been bound within the book was hungry, and was now currently looking for access to David's mind and soul. In his weakening state, David knew he could not keep it at bay for long and did not relish the thought of having his soul devoured. Cursing himself for his weakness in allowing the demon to influence him and thrice damning the witch hunter for driving him this far, David began focusing his will in an attempt to stop the demon's probing.

The witch hunter also had felt the release of the evil within the book, his tense posture revealing his unease. Despite the darkness, David imagined he could see the look of terror on the witch hunter's face. The man was oblivious to the danger that was now surrounding him, his attention focused on seeking external threats. The near complete darkness only added to the man's confusion as every instinct within him raged, warning him of danger, urging him to flee. When the man suddenly convulsed and dropped on all fours, retching pathetically, David felt a mixture of sympathy and vindication. However, the witch hunter refused to die quietly. As David watched, incredulous, the man rose to his feet, words of prayer pouring from his lips. Whether the prayer in itself was holding him together, or sheer will power, David neither knew nor cared. The mere fact that the man was once more on his feet was unsettling enough.

The witch hunter staggered painfully towards the fallen mage. With his severe wounds and his attention focused on keeping the demonic entity of the book at bay, David was helpless against any physical threats. His opponent suddenly cried out in pain, a testimony to the demon's fond attentions, but the man refused to fall. Pulling a wicked looking dagger from a sheathe at his side, the witch hunter continued to move towards his perceived source of the problem, David.

David felt death reaching for him, the last of his energy spent. His mental barriers fell away one by one until his soul lay naked before the demonic forces of the book. At once the mage felt the roaring energies rip at him, attempting to tear apart his very soul. If David could have given voice to his agony he felt sure he would have woken the dead, a likely possibility with the forces involved.

The witch hunter suddenly faltered, falling hard to the ground next to the stricken mage, his face distorted in agony. David felt the Chaotic forces assailing him lessen. It seemed that faced with the prospect of two weakened victims, the demon would not wait to rip into both. David hoped it was enough.

With the demonic entity's attention divided, David was given an opportunity to strike. He began to replace the broken wards in an attempt to rebind the demon. However, the demon proved too strong to be bound by the mage, weak as he was from his wounds. Still David persisted, having remade two of the simpler wards already.

He felt his vision suddenly blur, then falter completely. David knew he had no more time left. Beside him he still heard the muttered prayers of the witch hunter, the man's voice laced with delirium and pain. David knew that the two wards would not be enough to hold the demon at bay and could only pray that no one else would come to harm. He hoped against all odds that his mistake, his moment of weakness, would be dealt with without complication. It was a childish hope. Blackness overwhelmed the mage and David knew no more.

* * *

Everything was grey and insubstantial. An oppressing atmosphere dominated the realm, a choking, cloying feeling. In here, there was only pain. Malicious laughter boomed throughout the domain, shaking it to its non-existent core. The laughter continued, manifesting itself as a black stain, a taint, upon the grey world. It was the hand of insanity itself. It spread throughout the empty space, covering everything with its own presence, consuming all.

The sound of thunder suddenly interrupted, disturbing the strange realm. The laughter ceased. The thunder continued to grow in volume and repetition, driving away the mists of unconsciousness. The dream world began to fade, but still the black stain remained.

* * *

He woke with a start, scattering the bits of trash piled around him. A ripped and dirty cloak was wrapped around him, smelling of the filth that surrounded the area. The man found himself within an alleyway, the bright morning sun shining somewhere overhead. A carriage pulled by a pair of horses passed the alley's entrance, its passengers staring with undisguised disdain at the dirty figure huddled within. The man paid them no mind, instead his attention was focused on the echoing noises of the horses' clattering hooves upon the cobbled street. Thunder. Pieces of his previous dream began to from within his mind.

The man shook his head in an attempt to clear such stupid thoughts from his psyche. Dreams were just that, dreams. Dwelling on such thoughts were not befitting of someone of his status.

With a sudden jolt of realization, the man realized he had no idea as to who he was. In fact, he had no recollection of anything. Deciding that this situation must be remedied immediately, the man began to search his mind for any clue onto where he was, who he was, and what he had been doing. Events, places, people, all passed within his mind's eye without rhyme or reason. Everything seemed like a blur. A name flickered within his mind and he pounced upon it. David… David Faust was his name. So thrilled was he about this sudden development and so intent was he on continuing this quest that he failed to notice the man approaching him from further down the alley. When the stranger's shadow fell upon him, it was too late. Before he could react, David found himself locked in a heap of thrashing limbs.

Pummeling one another and cursing at the same time, the two men managed to extricate themselves from each other. Scrabbling to his feet, David rose to what he hoped was a competent defensive stance. However, his "assailant" remained upon the ground, rubbing his chin where a lucky strike had bruised it.

"You have a pretty good arm there, friend," said the stranger. The man's relaxed posture and calm voice clashed with the situation's gravity. It seemed evident that the man did not wish for confrontation.

"Why did you attack me?" David inquired, confusion evident in his voice. Despite this however, he kept up his bravado by staying in a fighting stance.

"I didn't mean to. I just tripped on some of the junk lying around here, I swear. I only wanted to talk."

"Talk?" replied the other, incredulous. The stricken man rose to his feet, dusting off his attire. "Strange clothing you have there," David commented, finally dropping his guard and indicating with a hand at the man's clothes. An inquisitive look passed across the fellow's face before he looked down to examine himself.

"Strange indeed," he muttered, examining his now filthy great coat and the numerous texts and symbols adorning it. "What do you suppose it all means?" he asked, fingering one of the strange symbols..

"Wouldn't know. Hell, I don't even no where I am," came David's reply. The other man broke into a grin.

"Well that makes two of us, friend. The name's Jorrik Moulton," the man extended his hand. After a moment's hesitation, David shook the hand heartily. _He seems harmless enough_, he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

David awoke with a start, his heart hammering and his breath coming in gasps. His hands flew out instinctively to ward off some unseen foe as his mind burned with the raw emotion of fear. Then, as quickly as it had seized hold of him, the fear left his mind as consciousness fully returned to him and reality struck him like a hammer. Closing his eyes, he slowed his frantic breathing with a purposeful sigh, feeling his heart rate drop as the night's terrors began retreating into the recesses of his mind. After several moments, he opened his eyes once more and was greeted to a scene he had awoken to for several days. It was a small, sparsely furnished chamber, barely illuminated by the first light of the coming dawn filtering through a shuttered window. A bed lay at the opposite wall, supporting an individual who had awoken at David's outburst and now sat up in bed staring at him with inquisitive eyes.

"Dreams again, huh?" Jorrik inquired, a look of concern etched upon his features. David simply nodded, his parched throat refusing to form words. His sheets and clothing were moist with perspiration, a testament to the intensity of his dreaming. However, despite the terror that had gripped him in upon awakening, David could not recall what had caused him such distress, he never could. Sighing, Jorrik said, "Don't worry about it, we're going to see a priest today once we finish work. We'll find out what's wrong."

* * *

Noon found David and Jorrik toiling out in the fields of a local farmer who, in his kindness, allowed the two amnesiacs to work for him in exchange for room and board. Having seen the pair slumped dejectedly on a curb by the market square, staring hungrily at the produce being sold, the farmer had decided to take pity on the two. With the harvesting season in full swing, the deal was a benefit to both parties despite David and Jorrik's ineptitude at even the simplest of tasks. Normally, the pair would work until sunset along with the other hired hands, but today they would be let off early. The pair's kindly patron, being a superstitious man and having learned of David's reoccurring nightmares, not only consented to allowing the two an early leave to seek out a priest, but specifically directed them to a temple in the nearby town. Persistent nightmares were considered bad luck and people often believed them to carry terrible portents that, if ignored, could bring down great misfortune to all involved. As the sun began its slow descent to the horizon, so to did Jorrik and David begin their own journey towards the town.

* * *

The town's streets were crowded with people, creating an effective barrier between the two companions and their goal. Maneuvering through the bustling crowds pushed Jorrik's dexterity to the limit, his ill fitting clothing doing little to aid his movement. Jorrik found himself lamenting his former decision to sell his old clothing, despite their strange and worn appearance, for they had at least been comfortable, familiar. Still, the small amount of income it had given him had brought with it the promises of a few bites of food and less outlandish clothing so as to blend more readily with the rest of humanity. In short, it was a necessary sacrifice.

Jorrik assumed a fair, or some other form of social event, was fast approaching as the manner of the people around him seemed to exude a sense of excitement and anticipation. The distracted atmosphere of the town proved perfect for opportunists, pick pockets weaving through the crowd and "liberating" numerous articles of value. In fact, several thefts occurred within spitting distance of Jorrik, though he made no move to stop them. Even without the massive wall of bodies blocking him, the thieves were more than competent, quickly disappearing back into the milling crowds before any chance of reprimand. Ensuring he still had all his belongings, as meager as they may be, and warning his companion to do the same, Jorrik pressed on through the crowd towards their destination, a small temple dedicated to Shallya located at the center of the town.

The navigation through the town's crowded streets proved arduous but brief. With the sun still blazing brightly overhead, though considerably lower in the sky, Jorrik and David found themselves upon the steps leading into the temple of Shallya. Though Jorrik's stride was confident and swift as the pair ascended the steps, David found himself slightly adverse to entering the sanctuary. His nightmares, though troublesome, hardly seemed worth the effort of seeking out a cleric. Surely the staff of this temple had more pressing matters to attend to other than his childish fears? With thoughts such as these flitting through his mind, and the comforting glow of the sun, it was easy to forget his fear and mitigate the intensity of the previous night's dream. So convinced was David in his own falsehood, that he was about to call out to his companion to request that they return to the farm posthaste and apologize profusely to their employer for wasting time, when he suddenly found himself already within the temple's walls.

* * *

A faint smell of incense enveloped David as his eyes began to adjust to the relative gloom of the temple's interior. The temple was almost unnaturally serene, despite the fact its doors were opened to the town's busy streets, the silence barely broken by the constant, hushed muttering of prayers and the muted footfalls of clergy on the carpeted floor. Despite the calm nature of the holy sanctuary, the feeling of apprehension David had felt in entering the temple was now replaced by a sense of great discomfort. Nausea gripped his insides as the makings of a headache began to beat a steady rhythm inside his skull. _Strange_, David thought, placing a hand to his now perspiring brow.

* * *

Jorrik had quickly accosted a passing priestess and was already deep in conversation, informing her of David's plight. At first she seemed quite mindful of the situation, but as Jorrik related the details to her, he could visibly see her attention wavering. By the slight, but constant shifting of her weight, Jorrik could tell she felt that the task he asked of her was a little foolish, and that she would rather be else where. By the flicker in her eyes, Jorrik was sure she was chiding him silently for overreacting and listening to the superstitions of the common folk. Smiling inwardly, Jorrik mentally checked himself. _Such an imagination I have_, he thought. How could he possibly know such things about a person based on body language alone? Who was he to hold such skills? Resisting the urge to shake his head at himself, he concluded his explanation and waved a hand in indication towards his companion, who still stood just inside the doorway. Without a word, she began towards David, Jorrik following closely behind her.

* * *

The headache was now in full swing, ravaging the confines of David's mind. David felt the world shift as his perception of reality began to warp. As he frantically sought to seize control of his senses, David found that thoughts began to form unbidden within his mind. Strange phrases formed from incomprehensible words flitted through his head, a sense of safety, of power, radiating from them. These words, though they defied their utterance on the mortal tongue, seemed so familiar, so reassuring. David knew that if he could only reach out to this source of power, to open his mind to them, he could regain control of his body and banish whatever ailment afflicted him. Yet, for the life of him, David could do nothing. He felt as if his whole body was shaking as he swayed on unsteady legs, marveling at how no one seemed to notice his distress. His vision was swimming, his knees felt weak, everything in his body was rebelling, David felt it was a miracle he remained standing. Through the veil of pain that now masked his vision, David found that the priestess now stood before him and was attempting to address him. He could give no response.

* * *

Jorrik stared wonderingly at his companion. Despite several attempts made by the priestess to grab David's attention, the man remained unmoving, staring straight ahead. In fact, Jorrik felt it unnatural that a man could stand so still as to appear almost inanimate. _Is he nervous_? Jorrik thought, disbelieving. The priestess reached out her hand to David's arm, hoping that the physical contact would bring the man's focus back to reality. The touch seemed to shock David, as he jumped at the contact. David took one look at the priestess, shifting his gaze briefly to Jorrik, before purging the contents of his stomach all over the temple's floor. Jorrik and the priestess could only stare in shock as David retched again, before collapsing in his own expelled fluids. Jorrik was about to rush to his companion's aid when he felt a presence, almost lovingly, touch upon his mind. Then the screaming began.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

* * *

David sat, crossed legged, upon a small hillock overlooking a small lake surrounded by a verdant forest. A mountain range, topped lightly with fresh snow, rose above the many trees surrounding the landscape to dominate the horizon. A soft breeze gently ruffled his hair, disturbing the grass around him and causing the lake to stir from its tranquility, sending reflections of the sun's light dancing across its rippling surface. In the distance, a song bird could be heard adding its voice to the beauty of the world around it. However, despite the pulchritude of the scene before him, David remained unmoved. Rather, he sat almost unmoving, eyes unseeing, with a steady mantra flowing forth from his lips. Slowly, David brought up a hand and with it, began weaving an intricate symbol in the air before him. His steady chant began to raise in volume and speed as he progressed in his weaving, an almost fervent focus about him. Nearly shouting now, his composure a stark contrast to what it was merely moments before, David completed the symbol with a sharp stroke of his hand that carried with it a grim finality.

After a brief moment of silence, when the world itself seemed to wait with baited breath, the air before David suddenly flared a bright green, the shape of the symbol he had etched in the air highlighted plainly for any to see. As the very air of reality was banished by the flickering energies of the new symbol, as a torch dispels shadow, numerous other symbols began to make themselves known. All around David they began to manifest, almost as if in greeting to their new comrade in arms. Bright arcs of energy, colored from every spectrum of light, began leaping from symbol to symbol, the runes attempting to balance the now disturbed equilibrium of power. It was a brilliant display, arcs of magic flashing across the small hillock, with David a stoic witness to it all Then all was silent once more, the magic symbols having once more faded from view, the newest addition to their number well within their company.

The world around David resumed its natural air, almost as if nothing had ever transpired, an unnatural calm settling upon the area. The distant chirping of the song bird could be heard once more, unperturbed by the blatant display of magic, as another breeze began to pick its way through the peaceful glade. The sun still shone brightly overhead, casting its warm light upon the tranquil scene. It was a beautiful scene, the glade, that carried with it a sense of timelessness, yet David remained untouched by its enchanting nature. In fact, he was rather uneasy.

Closing his eyes, knowing full well the gesture was meaningless, David sought to gather his strength once more to continue his work. Heaving a sigh out of habit rather than any desire or need, David focused on finding some inner peace. However, a frantic desire to continue began to bubble up from within him, threatening to drown him in despair as he knew it was yet too soon. David earnestly sought to leave this place, this world. Despite its beauty, and the perfect solitude it offered, David found it repugnant for the very same reasons. He knew it for what it was. This world, clothed in all its ornate garb, was nothing more than a prison, an illusion created by his mind to shield him from a greater terror than that of unbroken isolation. This world, this pristine marvel, was a mental hell that had but two occupants, David and his enemy.

Here, within this never changing glade, he had retreated when the sanctity of his mind had been so flagrantly violated. Here, weak and desperate, he had uttered the words of power to seal the demon into his own mind, an act of repentance for his moment of weakness. To further weaken his enemy's strength, David also bound part of its essence to the witch hunter's mind, a spiteful act he admitted, but useful nonetheless. Yet, David wondered if he had not exchanged one folly for another. For now, though the demon is contained, David can no longer walk in the waking world, confined in the inner sanctum of his mind by the very magics he had turned to for salvation. As such, though consciousness returns to him in waking, his true self remains bound within his subconscious, leaving only a fragment of his personality to masquerade in his body. Even still, despite his efforts, the demon was fighting to free itself and, though David was reluctant to admit it, was winning the battle. David's own feeble efforts to confine his foe only served to keep himself from ever waking from this self imposed nightmare while hardly deterring his enemy's own struggles. David knew it would not be much longer before the demon finds a weakness in the spell that binds them both, only leaving David with the hope that his Order would intercept him before then.

As he sat contemplating the wretchedness of his situation, a sudden chill crept over him and a sense of foreboding began to grow deep within his chest. David was no mystic, he could not foresee the future or tell the currents of fate by feeling alone, but within his own mind he need not be. His suspicions were actualized when he heard a voice in the distance, sonorous and cheerful, singing a tune that had likely been made up on the spot. Though the voice could have charmed a snake, David found no comfort in hearing its resonant call. Suppressing any disconcerting feelings, David rose to his feet and grimly readied himself to face his enemy.

A figure emerged from the surrounding forest, garbed in clothing that may be considered garish. His perfectly chiseled face would not have been out of place in a court of nobility, his features filled with a youthful energy. There was a lively spring to his step and a mirthful expression on his face as he made his way up the hillock towards David, singing a song that had long since lost any coherency. The man's stride did not slow even as he approached the top of the hillock, looking as if he intended to walk right up to the nervous mage. However, before the man could go any further, a bright flare of light appeared before him followed by a thunderous blast of sound, a glowing rune now blazing furiously between the interloper and mage. Despite the fierce display of power, the man's expression remained cheerful, though he did stop singing, a stark contrast to the dour expression plastered on David's face. The man regarded David coolly, the smile on his fair features widening as he observed David's ever deepening scowl.

"I suppose you're aware of what trouble your bumbling has landed you in?" the man began nonchalantly. David remained silent, glaring hatefully at the man even as his heart threatened to burst from his chest out of fear. Ignoring David's poor attempts at intimidation, the man continued, "They'll send for help soon, once they get over their stupid little policies of sanctuary. They may not know exactly what you brought into their temple, but I made sure to give them a good hint. You'll likely hang by the morning, or perhaps they'll have someone slit your throat here and now and be done with it." The man's grin became predatory.

"If I die then so much the better, for your essence will be cast back into whatever hell you came from," David spat. The man looked amused by his answer.

"Is that what you think? Well, well, it seems I'll have to educate you, my natural kindness would not permit me to leave you so ignorant." Here the man made a show of clearing his throat, taking on a mocking air of importance. "If you die tonight, and I assure you, it is a very likely possibility, my essence will be freed from this body. As you so correctly surmised, without physical form I would indeed be banished back to the realm of magic, but luckily for me I am well cared for." David felt chill sense of dread creep over him as he understood what the man meant. Seeing the expression on David's face, the man gave David a knowing look, his eyes alight with mischief. "Yes, not only have you been so kind to accommodate me here, but you have also prepared a home for me elsewhere. I must admit though, the witch hunter's mind is far less interesting than yours, but a home is a home."

"Your situation will hardly change, demon. You'll just be exchanging one prison for another."

"Alas, you once again fail to see the truth of the matter. You're a fair mage, I'll give you that, but a lousy warden. You truly think you trapped me here? What an arrogant man you are." The man lashed out with a fist, striking the rune still standing defiantly before him. The magic symbol shattered, its energies dissipating into the void. Another rune materialized to take its place though it seemed ludicrous now, like placing a paper wall before a roaring wildfire. David could only gape, astonished. "If I truly wanted, I could easily destroy your little wards and leave, but that would hardly be beneficial for me. Being bound in that damned book has taken its toll on me. As I stand now, my power is barely a fifth of what it once was. In the past I could have leveled cities or burned the mightiest of fortresses to the ground. I rivaled some of the greatest demons ever to walk this pitiful world and even amongst them I was lauded for my power, my guile, but I digress. In truth, all you have done is given me a place to rest and hide from those actually capable of dealing with me. Your own magics are what hide me from prying eyes."

David could hardly believe it, the demon had been toying with him. David had not bound the demon here, he had invited the bastard in. What kind of monster had he unleashed? David was no novice in magic so the fact that the demon could so easily bypass his protective wards, and only at a fifth of its former might, was a frightening revelation. This demon's power was far beyond the expectations of his Order and David knew he was woefully unprepared to handle a threat this large. David knew he had to keep control of the situation somehow, though he was at a loss on what to do.

"If what you say is true, then I only have to drop these wards to defeat you. My superiors have likely sent others to look for me, and the magnitude of your demonic presence would be easy enough to find," David ventured, trying to seem confident.

"Oh, I would still have the witch hunter to turn to, but I'm sure you'll just dissipate those wards as well. That would be a problem for me, wouldn't it? A demon without a physical anchor to this world, such a tragedy. I suppose I could just spend the remainder of my time jumping from host to host, killing and burning when I can, until some misguided soul finally finds and banishes me."

"The deaths of a few people would be a reasonable price to pay to kill something like you," David said stoically, though truly he felt guilty about sacrificing bystanders. Despite this bravado however, the man merely grinned, his mirth seemingly unceasing.

"This is your first time dealing with my kind isn't it? Demons do not die, unlike you fleshy little creatures, we are immortal. I can return to the mortal plane whenever I want, once I regain my strength after being banished that is. A few hundred years is like the passing of minutes for those like me. I'll be back before I even miss this world," the man said, savoring the look of dismay on David's face. "Oh, and by the way, the death of a few people is hardly a reasonable conclusion on your part, even if it is guess work, and I find it rather insulting. Try a few _thousand_, that about sounds right." David could say nothing, silence seemed the only appropriate response.

The man's eyes suddenly glazed over before brightening once more, only moments later.

"It seems they're attempting to wake you. I'll just pop over to the witch hunter's mind, torment him for a bit while I wait for your return. You are far more interesting." The man turned to leave but stopped before he took more than a few paces. Turning back around, he looked David straight in the eye, his merry countenance carrying a darker undertone. "Let me leave you with something you may find interesting, I think it is. If, by chance, you do die, then I'll be left with just the witch hunter. The wards you placed in his mind will still shield me as well as keep him impotent, unable to warn anyone of their impending demise. Think of the irony of it! You, a Grey Wizard, the shadowy defender of the masses, allowed, no, helped a demon like myself to regain its former glory. Your dying legacy will be the damnation of thousands upon thousands of innocents. What a wonderful twist of fate." The man began to laugh at the same time David began to scream out his frustration. The strange sound blend of sorrow and glee given voice was still echoing through the glade as consciousness returned to David's senseless body.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

* * *

The streets of the town were buzzing with activity, the excitement of the populace almost tangible. The reason for this was that tonight, and the following days as well, a holiday of sorts was to take place. It was a tradition nearly as old as the town itself, a period of rest after the harvest where the townsfolk could rest and socialize. A small fair was usually set up at the town square where large crowds would flock to participate in its many games and events. Though the town square was where most of the festivities were held, it seemed no place in the town was exempt from being transformed into a playground. Even the town's temple district was affected, the normal solemnity surrounding the area replaced by an atmosphere charged with childish anticipation. However, there still stood a grim bulwark against the pervading sense of joy surrounding the town. This dark blotch on the otherwise cheerful atmosphere was, ironically, the temple of Shallya, a symbol of hope. The temple stood, impervious to any cheering influence of the outside world, its doors stood closed. This, of course, was a strange anomaly considering it was almost a creed for the temple to always keep its doors open to any and all. Though only the closed doors seemed out of place, there was an underlying current of foreboding surrounding the building so strong, that passerbys often gave the temple a wide berth unconsciously, instinct warding them away. Inside the temple, however, was an entirely different story.

The workings inside the temple mirrored the town, in a sense. The temple was buzzing with activity, excitement lacing the air, though the reasons for this were far different from the town's, far darker. When one of the temple's visitors had suddenly had a fit, expelling his stomach's contents all over the rich carpeting, it was needless to say that every witness to the event was shocked. More shocking still, however, was what had come next. To most, it simply felt like a wave of nausea that sent their entire body tingling, many attributing it witnessing the unsavory spectacle of a man throwing up. To a select few though, it was far more. Several priestesses as well as a couple of the visitors had begun screaming, as if in intense pain. By the time anyone could come to the victims' aid, they had collapsed, many weeping uncontrollably, others unconscious, while a few were something worse. In the space of less than a minute, the peaceful workings of the temple, that had gone on undisturbed for countless years, had come to a crippling, abrupt halt.

* * *

Jorrik sat silently on a cushioned bench, leaning forward with his head on his hands. He was currently alone in what appeared to be an office of some sort, likely belonging to the senior priest or priestess or whoever it was that ran the shrine. The room was small but well adorned, though not to the point of lavishness, with a number of curious trinkets and articles lining the shelves around the room or occupying a space on the desk at the room's center. However, despite the numerous curios laying about the room, Jorrik remained unimpressed, solemn.

Jorrik was dead to the world around him, his expression blank. Not even the sounds of heated conversation filtering through the walls of the room he currently occupied were able to stir his interest. All Jorrik could think about was his companion, David, and the strange happenings that have surrounded him. Jorrik suddenly realized, slightly perturbed, that the more he mulled over the recent events concerning his companion, the more he felt a sense of dread growing within him. Though he could not place the exact reason for his growing discomfort, he felt an instinctive wariness at the current situation and the previous happenings. It almost felt as if he should _know _something about what was going on though for the life of him he did not know what. A sudden frustration gripped him. Standing, he made for the only door in the room. _What the hell am I doing here anyway?_ Jorrik thought to himself vehemently._ Shouldn't I be with David, wherever the hell he is? What kind of friend am I, sitting here skulking like some whipped dog?_ Here, though, Jorrik stopped himself. Was he David's friend?

Jorrik had stopped mid stride, his hand resting on the handle of the door. His gaze had once more taken a glazed look as he contemplated the implication of his words. What was his relationship to David? With the current state of his mind, Jorrik being unable to remember almost anything about his life or who he was, the only tie to humanity and his past had been his fellow sufferer, David. There was also a strong emotional bond Jorrik felt with David, though he did not know exactly what it meant. It was as if David had played a major role in his life before Jorrik had lost all memory of it. As such, was it not reasonable that he had stuck with David and labeled him a friend? Yet, was this really the case? Jorrik shook his head, smiling at his indecision. It did not matter what their relation to each other was before, right now Jorrik knew he considered David his friend and that was enough. However, Jorrik's contented smile did not last long as he suddenly found himself staggering away from the door, his face throbbing smartly. A rather shocked looking priestess stared at him through the now open doorway, a greeting dying on her lips. Jorrik could only scowl back, his mouth still reeling from the shock of having a door smashed into it

After stepping into the hallway, the priestess led Jorrik down the spacious corridor towards some obscure destination. Sure, she had explained that he was being summoned but the unexpected experience of bashing him with a door must have made it difficult to elaborate on the situation. In the distance, Jorrik could hear the echoes of activity, but it seemed so unreal against the strange solitude of the hall. The priestess stopped in front of a closed chamber door, knocking politely before stepping back to wait. Moments later the door was opened by yet another priestess who cast a quick glance towards Jorrik before having a whispered exchange with the woman who had guided him here. The second priestess wore near identical clothing to the first, excluding a few personal touches, but Jorrik could sense the strength of authority emanating from her and guessed she was of senior rank, perhaps even the head of the temple. After a few moments, the first priestess was dismissed, the second beckoning for Jorrik to enter.

Upon entering, Jorrik found himself in a room not dissimilar to the one he had found himself previously. A large window, overlooking a busy street, allowed an abundance of sunlight through into the room making it obnoxiously bright. However, what caught Jorrik's attention immediately was the two occupants of the room, barring the priestess and himself. One man, sitting in one of the two chairs in the room, Jorrik instantly recognized as David despite the fact he was currently turned away from him. The other, reclining on the edge of the room's desk, was a stranger with graying black hair. At his entrance, the two turned towards him.

"Jorrik?" David inquired, which, much to Jorrik's surprise, was followed by the same inquiry from the stranger.

"You know me?" Jorrik managed, astonishment still gripping him. An overflowing sense of hope suddenly filled him. Here, at last, was a relic of his past, a tie to his former humanity. Perhaps this man could help him remember who he truly was. Jorrik's sense of hope faltered though, as the man stood from his former position to properly face the newcomer, allowing Jorrik to fully assess the man.

Though a heavy cloak was draped across the man's shoulders, Jorrik could tell that the man's attire was well worn by travel. A pair of shabby, leather boots attached to the man's legs attested to this. A sword lay sheathed at his side as well as a smaller armament that Jorrik believed to be a pistol. However, it was not these fierce vestments of war that disconcerted Jorrik, it was the man himself. At first glance, Jorrik had assumed the man's graying hair was due to age, but on closer inspection Jorrik felt the man's age was far closer to his own. Despite the man's relative youth, his features were marred by numerous scars crisscrossing his face and the uncompromising expression he wore. The man's eyes though, were his most prominent feature. They gazed at Jorrik, piercing and fierce, radiating with a sense of grim understanding that Jorrik found disturbing. It looked like the man had never known happiness, and, if anyone had told him that was truly the case, Jorrik would have wholeheartedly believed them. Under his scrutiny, Jorrik felt like he was being interrogated and had already been found guilty thrice over.

Much to Jorrik's surprise, the man's face split into a smile, an expression Jorrik found empty and unnatural, even frightening.

"Moulton, it's been a long time," the man asserted, making his way towards Jorrik. Seeing Jorrik's confused expression at being addressed so familiarly however, the man stopped in his tracks. The smile that had seemed painfully plastered on his face fading so quickly that it was easy to believe it had never been present. "You don't remember me, do you?" the stranger inquired. Jorrik shook his head. Sighing, the man returned to his post on the edge of the desk. "Take a seat," he demanded, pointing to the remaining chair. Jorrik hesitated, despite his body's inclination to concede to the man's demands, glancing towards the priestess. Sensing his intention she smiled.

"Don't worry, I prefer standing," she assured Jorrik. Nodding, Jorrik quickly took his seat, preferring not to keep the stranger waiting.

The man regarded the two companions, his face unreadable apart from the fierce expression he seemed to unconsciously wear. Finally, he spoke,

"Jorrik, do you claim association with this man?" Jorrik glanced sideways at David, but his companion seemed intent on staring at the carvings inlaid on the desk's front, paying no heed to either Jorrik or his interrogator.

"Yes. What of it?" There was a silence, heavy with unsaid meaning. The stranger turned his attention towards David, noting his unseeing stare.

"I have suspicions your friend, perhaps you as well, may be demon possessed." There was another long pause. Finally, Jorrik could contain himself no longer. After a brief but fierce internal struggle for self-control, he burst out laughing. Despite Jorrik's irreverent display, the stranger remained unfazed.

"W-who are you to make such a statement?" Jorrik managed to stammer, the return of his laughter drowning out any reply. "Demon possessed! I've never heard of anything so stupid. My friend," Jorrik continued, rising from his seat, "I feel-"

"Silence!" the stranger barked, the force of his voice blasting throughout the small room. Jorrik immediately clamped his mouth shut. In the back the priestess give a small gasp of surprise. Even David was shocked out of his reverie, stunned by the violent utterance. "Sit," the man continued, albeit much calmer. Jorrik was quick to comply. When all was settled once more, the man continued, "The fact you find this situation funny only adds weight to the matter." The stranger glanced up, his eyes fixated on Jorrik's own. "You and I, we are of the same breed."

"So? What exactly is that supposed to mean to me?" Jorrik inquired, perturbed. A smile once more crept across the stranger's face, but Jorrik found this one far more appropriate for it carried no joy, only dark promise.

"Allow me to reintroduce myself to you then. I am Ansgar Jager, witch hunter."

Jorrik let the information sink in. The implications of this man's statement seemed ludicrous at best, yet Jorrik could not dismiss the thought. Jorrik waited for the man to elaborate before realizing that the witch hunter was waiting for a response, a reaction.

"Impossible," Jorrik stated flatly. In response the other man reached for his belt and threw an object at Jorrik, his movements swift and practiced. Jorrik could not help but flinch, much to his shame, believing the man's intention had been ill. However, a quick glance revealed that the object was a pistol, beautifully crafted and lovingly maintained. "What's this supposed to mean?" Jorrik inquired, looking up to give the man a quizzical look. Jorrik's eyes grew wide in surprise when he caught sight of the flash of metal in Ansgar's hand. Without preamble, the witch hunter lunged for Jorrik, intent on plunging a wicked looking dagger into the surprised man's throat. Before anyone could voice any protest however, it was over. The room was deathly silent.

The priestess in the back was staring at the scene, shock evident in her features. David was halfway out of his seat, frozen in place, his pale features growing paler. Ansgar calmly stood before Jorrik, rubbing a sore spot on his wrist. Already the flesh was darkening into the beginnings of a bruise. The dagger lay on the floor. Jorrik was out of his seat, the pistol aimed between the witch hunter's eyes. Only a slight notch in the woodwork of the firearm gave any evidence of what had transpired. Amongst all in the room, it was safe to say Jorrik himself was the most surprised. Despite the superiority of his position, Jorrik was trembling.

"In the past I have seen you kill men armed with swords with but a pistol in close combat. Your mind may have forgotten your experiences, but your body has not. Years of training have ingrained those movements into your mind. Is this proof enough I know what I speak of?" Ansgar calmly stated, reaching down to retrieve his blade. Suddenly, Jorrik found his voice.

"Are you insane? What if I didn't react in time? What if you had killed me?"

"Then you would have died." Ansgar replied simply, once more returning to his perch on the desk. "Hopefully now you will take this situation more seriously. I have other means to prove my credibility, but they are far less… pleasant." Jorrik sat back down, his eyes focused on the witch hunter, his expression rapt.

* * *

David heart was still hammering. This man, this witch hunter, truly was insane. Not a minute before awakening, his head throbbing painfully, had David been thrust into a room alone with this madman. Despite David's many protests, the witch hunter had persisted on interrogating him. The questions themselves were often confusing, asking David to pledge allegiance to someone or swear by something, it was all gibberish to David. How was he supposed to know the answers to these questions? Once the man had pulled a foul smelling pendant from around his neck, waving it in front of David who gagged at the stench, almost gracing the office floor with more of his previous meal. All throughout the ordeal the man had been raving about demon possession, or something to that effect. If anything, this so called witch hunter was the one possessed.

David, however, had more to worry about then his current, lamentable situation. The headache that had plagued him prior to his collapse was still beating a merry tune within his head, dulling his thoughts and senses. He was worried he would repeat the purging of his stomach due to the continued nausea caused by the headache. It was if there was something in the air slowly poisoning him. David blamed the incense. A voice within his subconscious prodded him, prompting him to leave this place for the outside air. However, the one time he had tried to leave, his interrogator had threatened to remove David's arm. As such, all David could do now was wait as his companion, Jorrik, talked some sense into this lunatic. Still, the voice within his mind persisted, sometimes, David swore, it was joined by a second, urging him to do something or other. _Perhaps there is some truth to the matter? _David chanced a look at the witch hunter's direction. David snorted, _Unlikely. Damn incense_.

* * *

Jorrik did his best to keep up with the steady barrage of information the witch hunter was feeding him. From what Jorrik could gather, the man before him was similar to a priest in that he was ordained by a church, or in his view, _the _church, to do their holy work. That is where their similarities ended, as far as Jorrik was concerned. It seemed a witch hunter was given nearly supreme authority by the church of Sigmar to cleanse any and all suspected of trafficking with the "darker powers." In truth, by the way the man made it sound, very few were above the attention of his ministrations. This fact, coupled with what Jorrik could discern from the man, meant he and David were in serious trouble, and that was without factoring the possibility of a demon into the equation. What troubled Jorrik most of all though, was that the witch hunter continued to assert Jorrik was amongst their number. The incident with the dagger could mean nothing. Any man would move to save his life. Yet Jorrik knew that was deluded thinking, this man had no reason to lie to him.

"Jorrik," Ansgar continued, snapping Jorrik from his rumination. "I have given your companion the most basic of interrogations and he failed miserably." Jorrik opened his mouth to reply but Ansgar cut him off. "I am well aware of his memory problems, my belief in his claims strengthened by your own actions. However, this only adds to my suspicions."

"Ansgar, I know all you're doing is your job, but I feel this is a mistake. Your tests, as effective as they may be, are not full proof are they? Certainly there must be other ways to discern the truth of the matter."

"In all my years of service to my lord, Sigmar, only once have these tests failed me." Jorrik's expression lightened, feeling he had reached some reasonable part of the man's mind. "Don't get me wrong, he still burned. I was right in the end, it just took more to prove it." Jorrik was crestfallen.

"David, why don't you say something? I would appreciate a little help in defending _your_ hide," Jorrik stated, turning to his companion who had been silent the entire time. David glanced at the other two men, smiling sheepishly.

"Sorry, you were just doing such a good job I didn't want to ruin it," he replied jokingly.

"You see, Ansgar? How could David be demon possessed? He looks normal enough to me."

"I would say you know nothing of demonic possession only that would not be entirely true now, would it?" Before Jorrik could voice his doubts on the matter, doubts that were becoming more and more insubstantial, Ansgar continued. "That you both are amnesiacs may mean nothing at all. The interesting fact that you are also a witch hunter, sworn to purge evil in all its forms, may just be coincidence. Your friend's failure of my tests may just be another fluke of mine, correct?" Jorrik could say nothing. Ansgar continued, "In answer to your previous question, there is another way to discern the truth. In fact, that is what brought me running here in the first place, leaving the comforts of a warm room and meal, to attend to you." Ansgar glanced up towards the priestess whom Jorrik had quite forgotten. "Sister, if it is no bother to you?"

"Not at all, sir," she replied, understanding his intentions. She gave a nervous bow before leaving the room.

"What-" Jorrik began.

"Be patient."

* * *

David found that if he focused, he could begin to discern the voices more clearly. At first he had been alarmed, almost confessing to the witch hunter out of fear. However, survival instinct and something else held him back. It was the chanting. The primary voice he had been hearing had been silken but indiscernible. Eventually, its incessant chatter was threatening to put David over the edge which, David suspected, may have been its intention. That was when the chanting had started, David finally able to discern the difference between the two voices within his mind. He had been ready to laugh at the thought that he now believed he had voices within his mind, likely stirring the witch hunter's unfavorable attention, but the chanting had calmed him. The words, though insensible, sounded familiar and comforting. David knew he should speak up, at least so Jorrik would not get too deep into this. It was not his friend's problem. However, David also did not want to be given over to the witch hunter to await whatever the man intended which was sure to be unpleasant. David was still struggling with what to do when the door to the room opened once again.

The priestess returned, though not alone. She was followed by a large man, armored as if to do battle, wielding a sizable war hammer. The man was as intimidating as Ansgar, easily dwarfing the priestess who had preceded him, his bald head scarred and pitted. He looked more than normal amongst the company of such as the witch hunter. However, the next to enter was the strangest of the three. It was a girl, likely no more than sixteen, who now stood within the doorframe. She bore no weapon as the other two did, and wore clothing that would not have been out of place in the streets outside. The only thing that associated her with her companions was the traveling cloak she wore, identical to those worn by her predecessors and equally travel worn. The two strangers took their place behind Ansgar, the man standing in rigid attention while the girl took the seat behind the desk.

* * *

Jorrik regarded the newcomers as he waited for Ansgar to explain. The man was clearly a warrior, the scars on his face and armor a testimony to a life of battle. The large war hammer he currently held head to the floor revealed that the man must also have considerable strength to wield such a monstrous weapon. Jorrik could make nothing of the girl, who now had her legs propped up casually on the desk as she reclined in the chair. Her eyes were closed, her expression was relaxed. Perhaps she was a menial; she had manners enough for one. Jorrik returned his attention to Ansgar, awaiting the coming answer.

"As you have no doubt surmised, these are my companions," Ansgar stated, gesturing to the two.

"Gunther Falke," the large man rumbled as way of introduction.

"Adela," was all the girl said, not even bothering to open her eyes.

"By the nature of my profession, I do not have the luxury of normal companionship. Any who would share in my crusade would be far from the ordinary; Gunther's skills are obvious enough." Ansgar pressed on. Jorrik merely nodded, curious as to where this was going. "Adela is something more subtle." Jorrik felt a sense of uneasiness stir within him. "Adela was possessed by a demon in her youth. Though the demon has long been exorcised, it took part of her with it and left something of itself in return," Ansgar went on. "As such, she has certain talents that would be useful in service to the church of Sigmar."

"I'm sensitive to them, to demons," the girl stated suddenly. "If I focus, I can feel their presence as easily as another human being." Despite the nature of her words, Jorrik could detect no emotion. There was no pride, or disgust, or bitterness. It was simply stated matter of factly. Rising from her seat, Adela strode over to David and brought her face close to his as if in deep observation though Jorrik felt there was a more sinister purpose to her actions. David did not flinch at the close proximity, did not so much as move, though the girl was staring him straight in the eye. Jorrik wondered at his companion's stoicism before realizing David was not even paying attention to the events around him anymore. His eyes were unfocused, staring out into space.

"She was cured, right? So then, even if David is possessed, can you just get the demon out of him like last time?" Jorrik asked Ansgar hopefully.

"Adela was a special case, an anomaly. It is common practice in the case of demon possession that the host is purified before being executed and burned. That is, of course, if the host had survived the exorcism at all," Ansgar replied coolly. "You had better leave, Sister," Ansgar said, addressing the priestess in the back. "What may follow may prove unpleasant." Jorrik heard the sound of hastened footsteps, a door opening and closing, then silence. "Begin your work, Adela." In response, the room's temperature dropped sharply several degrees and the air gained a sense of unnatural, suffocating weight. Amidst the sonorous intonations that Ansgar and the other stranger, Gunther, were now uttering with palpable zeal, Jorrik swore he heard scratching in the back of his mind.

* * *

David found himself in darkness, occasionally broken by some light flashing briefly in the distance. Everything was silent. David did not know when or how it happened, but he was unconscious again. This time though, he had no sanctuary to retreat to, the glade he had been hiding in dissipating under his current mental stress. All around the mental projection of himself, protective runes were blazing angrily in a vain attempt to beat back the encroaching darkness. From the impossible blackness, a man emerged, one that David recognized only too readily.

"Bastard, what do you think you're doing?" David demanded, attempting to mask his uncertainty with anger. The man regarded him with eyes that danced with malicious intent.

"There's been a change in priority. You've suddenly become important."

"You can't possibly feel threatened by that little girl?" David asked, unbelieving but hoping for it to be true.

"Don't be stupid, mageling. Of course not."

"Then what-?" David began before the man continued, ignoring David's inquiry.

"Anyway, it does not matter what I fear for that is irrelevant. I fear nothing. However, I do hate being set back. As such…" With a wave of his hand, the demon shattered David's wards, leaving the mage exposed to whatever horrors lay without.

A sudden pain blossomed all over David's body. It did not matter that it was literally all in his mind, the pain was real enough.

"Damn you!" David managed to cry out to his enemy who now stood before him, an interested expression on his charming face. David could feel his grip on himself evaporating rapidly, his memories were truly going to fade out. In a blind panic David attempted to summon some sort of protective spell, but nothing would come from his ravaged mind. When the last vestiges of his memories seemed to have faded, the pain stopped, a flood of memories rushing back to fill his mind. David was disorientated, unable to discern past from present, reality from speculation. His memories were back, but there were differences he was sure. A man stood before him. Where had he seen this man? A sense of loathing filled him, but David could not place the reason why. In truth, it felt as if he was in a waking dream, fantasies intermingling with reality.

"Make me proud," the man stated, smiling. Before David could respond, reality shifted.

* * *

The atmosphere of the room suddenly regained its former status. Jorrik realized the girl, Adela, was now sprawled across the floor, unmoving. Jorrik was not sure if she was breathing. The figure next to her though, was what drew Jorrik's attention. David now stood, a strange look was etched on his face as he surveyed the occupants in the room. Ansgar and Gunther were alert, their faces grim and weapons held at ready. Jorrik noted they made no move to help their fallen comrade.

"I remember," stated a voice and Jorrik was surprised to find that it had come from David.

"What is it that you remember?" inquired Ansgar hesitantly, the pistol he was aiming at David's head never wavering.

"Everything," David stated simply.

"Ansgar, Adela is-" Gunther began before Ansgar cut him off.

"I know." Ansgar turned to David. "If it is true that you remember, then all this must be shocking to you. However, we need you to cooperate with us so we can get to the heart of this matter. You needn't fear us," Ansgar stated before gesturing to Gunther. The big man stepped towards David but the other man stepped away.

"How ignorant did you think I was before my memory loss? I've heard of what you Sigmarite fanatics are capable of and witnessed enough of your "cleansings" to know you are lying through your teeth. I can help you however, I know where the true threat lies." Gunther looked back to Ansgar for instruction, uncertain if he should proceed with this new revelation. The witch hunter still had his pistol trained on David, his eyes steely. Taking this as a sign of silent affirmation, Gunther continued towards David. When it seemed that Gunther had finally backed David into a corner, the large man suddenly stumbled back, a significant dent now apparent upon his chest's armor.

Gunther was coughing painfully as he struggled to keep his footing, which was a struggle he promptly lost, but before the man could fall David was there to prop him up.

"Spare your comrade death and hear me out," David began, revealing that his support of Gunther was far from charitable camaraderie. The large man, who was barely holding onto consciousness, was the perfect shield for David from Ansgar's line of fire.

"Speak," was all Ansgar said.

"A demon is involved in this incident, as you believe, but it does not reside in me or my companion, Jorrik. It is out there, hiding amongst the people of this town and gaining its strength. This demon is more powerful than you can imagine and every moment it lives it gains more of its power back. I can help you though, I have seen into its mind."

"How convenient," Ansgar stated sarcastically.

"As proof to the veracity of my claim and my trust in you as a righteous servant of Sigmar, I place myself at your mercy." David said, lowering the injured Gunther to the ground before standing, arms spread open in a gesture of compliance. The room was filled with thunder as Ansgar fired his weapon.

* * *

Jorrik was too surprised to cry out, to even move at all. The roar of Ansgar's pistol seemed impossibly loud. The bullet caught David right between the eyes, a fatal shot, but the man remained standing, unperturbed by the violent act. There was no bullet wound in his forehead. Ansgar's cry of surprise drew Jorrik's attention and what Jorrik saw nearly caused him to mimic Ansgar's previous action. David was in front of the witch hunter, one arm securing Ansgar's pistol hand, the other thundering towards the witch hunter's head. There was an audible crack as Ansgar was sent reeling from the blow, his pistol tumbling out of his grip. Before the dazed man could so much as utter a cry of pain, David was upon him, beating him with such fury that Jorrik moved to stop him. Before he could do anything though, David had already stopped. Rising swiftly, David dusted himself off before assuming an air of normality. Ansgar was unconscious at his feet. Casting a glance towards the fallen Gunther at the far end of the room, Jorrik could not fathom how David had shifted positions so quickly. Demonic influence seemed a likely guess.

"Jorrik, we had better hurry. We need to get as far away as possible before these three awaken," David said, facing his companion. Jorrik noted that there definitely was a purpose, a sense of ones' self, burning within David's eyes now where before it had been absent. Yet, there was something more, something Jorrik could not place. He hesitated. "Jorrik, please, trust in me. We need to disappear." Without waiting for a response, David grabbed Jorrik's arm and began hauling him towards the door. Whether it was the shock concerning the previous events, his trust in David, or something else entirely, Jorrik let himself be led along by his companion who was moving at a rapid pace. Before long, Jorrik no longer needed prompting, the two practically sprinting out of the temple and into the milling crowds. The two had long since disappeared when one of the priestesses at the temple finally managed to awaken the fallen Ansgar. Needless to say, Ansgar was incensed.

* * *

The night breeze was cool and crisp, the two figures savoring its feel as they gazed down at the bright display of the town's festivities. Even at this distance, perched on a small hillock overlooking the town, the sounds of laughter and enjoyment drifted up to the two to dance lightly upon their ears.

"Thank you," David said, his gaze still locked on the town below them. Jorrik cast a glance towards his companion who now carried a small pack upon his shoulders. Jorrik carried a similar one on his own back. Contained within was what food and equipment they had managed to buy, considering the time constraints, and it was supposed to sustain them indefinitely until better fortune should befall them. It was not a favorable situation they were in.

"Don't thank me yet," Jorrik returned, still trying to comprehend that he was trusting this man, despite what he had seen. It was true he felt a connection to David, it was also true that he considered David as something like a friend and some sense of loyalty held him back from abandoning him, but there was something more. Though Jorrik considered it ludicrous, he could not shake the feeling like he was being compelled by something to stay close to this man. It felt like instinct and something else entirely. "I may yet still be your undoing if the witch hunter's words prove true." David looked like he was about to respond when he suddenly doubled over. Alarmed, Jorrik rushed to his companion's side.

David had collapsed onto the ground, intense pain flooding his body. Everything became indistinct as every experience he had ever known, and some he may have never known, intermingled, disappeared, or changed. In a brief spasm of clarity, David reached out to grasp Jorrik's arm, his companion trying frantically to discern his ailment.

"Witch hunter, find… Grey Order… Gereon…" David managed before his mind left him.

Sitting upon the hillock next to David's unresponsive form, Jorrik knew what he should do. The words of Ansgar were flitting through his mind. _Demon, demon, demon, he has a demon inside of him!_ Rising, Jorrik searched the nearby area until he found a suitably large rock. Striding back to his companion's side, the rock he carried poised to crush David's head, Jorrik found he could not bring himself to kill David. Letting the rock fall from his hands to land harmlessly onto the earth, Jorrik sat heavily and began to contemplate David's words. Jorrik knew what he should do and did nothing.

* * *

Another figure stood by Jorrik and David that night, though they would never know it. A vicious smile seemed permanently plastered onto his features as he surveyed the two companions, his rich clothing and fine hair unruffled by the light breeze. He shifted his position, though he stirred not a blade of grass, and set his farseeing gaze to the horizon, obscured by the darkness. Still half a day off was a grey garbed man, riding with swift abandon, towards their prior location. Dangling upon a chain strung about the grey man's neck was a miniature sword. Though it seemed impossible, the demon's grin grew wider.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

* * *

The sun was beginning to set below the horizon, the fading light bathing the land and sky in an orange hue. A light autumn breeze stirred the branches of the many trees within the forest, bringing with it the promise of a cold night. To the men working diligently within the forest's confines, cutting and hauling timber, the cool touch of the breeze was a welcome gift. The men had been working since early morning, hired hands all, laboring to ensure the local town had enough wood to last through the coming winter. Judging by their weary features and sweat stained clothing, it was arduous work. However, the failing light made it hazardous to continue, effectively ending the work day which, of course, the men had no objection to. Finishing what they could before packing their gear, the men retired to the town eagerly, their minds filled with thoughts of rest and recompense.

* * *

The tavern's interior was warm and homely, the friendly banter of its patrons and the occasional song struck up by a few overzealous guests adding to the atmosphere, a welcome refuge to the autumn night's biting cold. Though it was not yet filled to capacity, the tavern already had a crowded feel to it. People, of all professions and walks of life, were gathered around tables, which were often laden with food and drink, gracing one another with fanciful stories or the latest gossip that was flitting around town. Despite the amiable environment of the tavern though, a pair chose to shy away from the main body of people who were basking in the glow of human camaraderie, content with lurking in the background and observing.

Jorrik ate hungrily, his simple fare consisting of a thin slice of cheese, a loaf of hard bread, and a small bowl of thin soup. As rustic as the food was, it tasted heavenly after laboring for more then half the day and, most importantly, was cheap enough for his tight budget. Across from him sat his companion, David, who ate without gusto as he periodically surveyed the room. David had thinned considerably over the last few weeks, his skin taking on an unhealthy pallor. Though Jorrik knew he looked similarly haggard, the stress of constant travel and being a fugitive from a religious fanatic playing a large hand in the problem, he knew David was far worse off. Thinking of what lurked within David, just beyond mortal senses, Jorrik shuddered. Again he found himself wondering at his determination to stay with his companion and again he found himself with the same answer he always came up with, there was a link between them. Never mind that he could not identify what linked them, all that mattered was that there was indeed a connection between them, a link to their former lives. Of course, Jorrik suspected it was more than that possible link to his past that kept him by David's side. He was sure that abomination hiding within his companion played a hand in it as well, who knew how much influence the demon really had on the mortal realm? It did not matter in the end though. Jorrik would play along with the demon's games until he is satisfied with what he could glean from this experience, then he would crush the monster, and host as well if it came to that. He told himself that constantly, comfortingly, and, half the time, he truly believed it.

* * *

Though the food was palatable, his body's fatigue adding flavor to the food's normally bland taste, David could find little heart to eat. Never mind the fact that his body cried out for nourishment and rest, the condition of his mind was far more worthy of his attention, as well as the tavern door, of course. Without thinking, David surveyed the room, his third examination of its interior in the past minute, taking note of all the tavern's current patrons and checking the door for any new arrivals. It was a habit he had developed recently to ensure a run in with Ansgar Jager would never happen, or rather a run in would never happen _again_.

The dour witch hunter had caught up to them a week back, in some nameless town where David and Jorrik had sought refuge during a thunder storm. The two companions, having made considerable progress from their original location and with little mishap, had thought that pursuit was not only unlikely, but impossible given the current weather conditions. Throughout the entire trip, Jorrik had ironically been trying to reassemble David's scrambled memory, compliments of the demonic parasite living within him, and had been making little headway in convincing David of most of the circumstances. Truly, such a story that Jorrik was trying to convey seemed too fantastic to take as anything more than a tall tale. However, it was in that week that David learned to trust in Jorrik and, as all men learn to do, hate fate as well.

It was when they were staying at the only inn within the town that they met the witch hunter again. The inn's proprietor was a greedy man, and despite the fact that the inn was nearly overflowing with guests, his avarice ensured that he made every attempt to squeeze in more. The weather outside had been less than favorable and the two had been too tired to argue with the inn keeper when he had announced they were to be sharing their room with another patron. Immediate comfort seemed far more important than privacy at that moment. When Ansgar Jager had walked through the door to their room, dripping with rain water, covered with mud, and carrying a bag of supplies and personal belongings, it was all his companion, Jorrik, could do not to laugh out loud at the cruel irony of it all. The humor had been lost to David then and, even now, he could see little to laugh about.

Needless to say, if it had not been for the sheer impossibility, let alone stupidity, of the situation, Ansgar would have surely caught them. The shock, however, affected the witch hunter long enough for Jorrik to grab his pack, half its contents still sprawled around the room, and David before plowing through the only window in the room. They had been on the second story. Ansgar had followed them, using the stairway of course, but thankfully had lost sight of them in the deluge. Rushing into the pouring rain, weapons drawn and intent on fulfilling his obligation to holy Sigmar, Ansgar had neglected to check the most obvious hiding spot. David and Jorrik, bruised and battered, watched their pursuer disappear in the haze of rain and wind, safe under the nook of the short stairway leading to the entrance of the inn.

That encounter had cost them dearly. Placing haste over convenience, Jorrik and David had made a hasty departure from town, leaving most of their belongings still within the inn's room. Returning to their room would have been suicidal anyway, Ansgar did not travel alone and likely had his associates alerted of their presence before he rushed out after them. It had been painful traveling after the incident due to the lack of supplies and the ever real threat that the witch hunter may be only a few hours behind them, if even that. It was only now that they had been able to afford replacing most of their lost gear, and David was hell-bent on keeping it with them.

"David?" Jorrik said, attempting to catch his companion's attention. David gave a grunt to indicate he was listening while he eyed a group of people who had just entered. "I'm heading over to the inn now. Don't stay down here too long, we have more work to do tomorrow." David gave another grunt, this time in affirmation, before returning his attention to his food, satisfied that the group he had been observing had been harmless. Jorrik got up and headed towards the door, patting David on the shoulder as he passed in what he hoped was a comradely manner. Sitting alone now, David took in another mouthful of food, chewing it contemplatively. The tavern suddenly felt a little too large. After a moment, he got up and followed Jorrik's example.

* * *

David jerked suddenly awake, arms flailing at the darkness as his mind attempted to readjust to the conscious realm. A strong handed reached out and steadied him, calming him as his mind finally started to snap into clarity. He was still in the inn room Jorrik and he had rented, Jorrik himself standing next to his bed. It was still dark, though the sun was up, if but barely, given evidence by the few meager rays playing across the only window sill in the room. Grogginess still cloying at David's mind, he surmised it was too early to be stirring and was on the verge of inquiring of his companion, rather testily, of why he had been so damn rude to wake him.

"Get up and pack your stuff, we're leaving. Quick and quiet, now," Jorrik said suddenly, once he was sure David was lucid enough to understand him. The rather acrid rebuke boiling within David's throat died away at Jorrik's cautions words. Without comment, David set about gathering his belongings and gearing up for travel, knowing better than to waste time pestering Jorrik with questions.

* * *

Jorrik was already finished and fidgeting by the doorway by the time David finally strapped on the last article of his traveling clothing. Wordlessly, they made their way downstairs, the only sounds audible were a few snatches of muted conversation and the distant sizzle of the kitchen grill. After paying the inn keeper, and dodging his good-natured demands that they stay for breakfast, a benefit included in their bill of course, Jorrik and David immediately set off at a brisk pace.

Outside was cold, punctuated by a light wind. Ominous, gray clouds were gathering overhead, bringing with it a permeating sense of gloom. The town they were in was still enthralled by the peace of sleep, the two companions passing only a trickle of people on the streets, a fraction of the flood it would become in the hours to come. Yet, despite this relative solitude, David was quick to note that Jorrik was tense, contrary to the casual exterior he was currently flaunting.

"What's going on?" David asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid that any noise was somehow blasphemous.

"Jager is here," was Jorrik's simple reply. David blanched.

"A-are you sure?" was all he could manage, his mind attempting to cope with the implications such news entailed.

"Quite. I saw him, bright as day."

"Where?" At this point, Jorrik stopped before turning towards David, a strange look etched on his features.

"He was… he was staying in the room right next to us. I think he had arrived in town just last night." There was a moment's silence before the two of them broke out into laughter, very nervous, very muted laughter.

* * *

The two made it out of the town in under an hour, stopping only once at a shop to stock up on bare essentials. Their early departure left them woefully unprepared; facing the hardships of travel haphazardly was never a good idea, though the alternative was far worse. The two were torn between weeping and laughing at their near brush with death, finally opting for stoicism as they continued their journey. To waste time and energy entertaining such emotions now, at the start of what may prove a very difficult journey, could only be detrimental.

Come noon, David and Jorrik's mood had greatly improved, along with the weather. The grim clouds that had been lingering overhead had been banished by the sun's insistence to shine, finally bathing the land with its warm rays. Though a few clouds remained obstinate on existing, the weather had become unseasonably fair, a far cry from the morning's original forecast. The two companions had decided to indulge in a brief break, seeking the comforting shelter of a tree's shade. Chewing thoughtfully on mouthfuls of dried goods and chatting amiably between swigs from their water canteens, the two looked to all the world like a pair on a recreational outing, their eyes surveying the landscape as they rested their bodies for the next leg of the journey.

"This weather's nice," ventured Jorrik softly, in an attempt to break the silence that had fallen between them.

"Yeah, though perhaps it would have been better if the weather had worsened," David returned. "Ironic that it would be just as beneficial to us as it was detrimental."

"Story of our lives, no?" David chuckled at this. Right now, just sitting under a tree and eating food hardly fit for human consumption, David almost felt a sense of normality. The peacefulness of their surroundings and the beautiful weather that had graced them did much in easing their worries. It felt good to live in the here and now for once, instead of always trying to delve into the past or look ahead into the future. After awhile, the two decided it was time to continue their travels, though they did so with a slight reluctance.

The sun continued to shine well into the mid-afternoon, and by that time the sun's increasingly warm attentions had long since worn out its welcome. The road the two had been following seemed to have rapidly degraded at some point prior on their journey and had become increasingly difficult to traverse. The sun would begin its final descent in just a couple of hours, and Jorrik and David both knew that their number one priority would be to find suitable shelter. Jorrik suddenly made a face, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he fanned a hand in front of his face in an exaggerated manner.

"What is it?" David asked, valiantly restraining the urge to laugh at his friend's antics.

"You really don't smell that?" Jorrik inquired sincerely. David shook his head, a hint of a smile edging his lips. A minute later though, the stench his companion had been complaining about hit him full force, David suddenly finding himself emulating Jorrik's previous actions. The smell carried with it a strong sense of sweat and feces, an unmistakably animal odor.

"Damn, I wish I had been given some kind of warning," David stated, trying to clear his nose of the smell.

"You did," Jorrik said dryly. David ignored him.

"Anyway, it means there's a farm ahead. Maybe we can convince them to let us spend the night." David glanced at Jorrik, to gauge his opinion, but his companion merely shrugged. Returning the gesture, David continued on with Jorrik following closely behind him, cursing the nameless farmer for his lack of consideration to other's noses.

* * *

A rustling in the bushes caught Jorrik's attention. He tensed, but continued walking. Out of the corner of his eye, he concluded that David had noticed as well, the man's subtly rigid posture speaking volumes. Jorrik was right then; that sound had been too loud to have been made by some fluffy, little woodland animal, it had been made by something much bigger. The smell from earlier had intensified as they had traveled, but they had encountered no sign of any farm. In fact, the terrain seemed to have only grown more rugged. There was another rustle in the underbrush, this time closer and had come, unsettlingly, from a completely different direction. Jorrik's hand slipped to the small dagger he carried on his belt, an identical one could be found on David's belt as well, the only armaments they could afford and travel with easily. Right now though, Jorrik would have given almost anything for something more imposing. The forest was suddenly cast into an oppressive silence, the only noises Jorrik could hear was the forcibly controlled breathing coming from himself and his companion. The two waited, tense and silent.

"Maybe we scared it off?" David said unconvincingly. Jorrik had been about to answer when suddenly the forest around them seemed to come alive. Monstrous creatures, beasts that seemed to be sick parodies of mankind, burst from the foliage all around the pair, bellowing terrifically. The foul appearance of their bodies, both animal and man, were further accentuated by the grisly trophies of bone hanging from their fur as well as the fierce, if crude, weapons they wielded. The stench from them was overpowering. Their daggers forgotten, Jorrik and David ran. All around them they could hear the beasts' cries.

* * *

**Authors Note:** Yes, I know, though this is supposed to be the beginning of the "exciting" part of the story, it still seems slow does it not? I cannot be helped however, since I need to give an account of what they had been doing since the last chapter. Since trying to fit so much stuff into one chapter would have made it seem unwieldy, I had to cut it off here. In response to your review Bien, I'm not so sure I can give a good gaming profile on my current characters. So as to not give away any plot devices, any of the statistics I could give you would only be of their current state, clueless amnesiacs which would hardly make for a good adventuring character in an rpg. Truly, I think that your interpretation of them would be far better for you to use.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

* * *

David stumbled, cursing his ill fortune as his face became well acquainted with the ground. An axe, blurred by the speed with which it was thrown, sailed through the space his head had previously occupied. Gazing at the splintered tree trunk the axe had buried itself in; David suddenly found himself blessing whatever had tripped him as he scrambled hastily to his feet. David had lost sight of Jorrik when he had stumbled, his companion had continued to run, unaware that David had been left behind. Alone now in the middle of a vast forest and surrounded by monsters, David was seized with a terrible sense of despair. He wondered whether he should bother continuing this hectic retreat through the woodlands when, in all likelihood, it seemed the pain of his labors would only culminate to the pain of his death. A particularly vicious howl, whose origin was likely no more than several paces behind him, quickly banished David's pessimistic musings and managed to renew the energies within his legs. Filled with a new sense of purpose, or rather, reminded of his previous one, David continued his race for survival with a new vigor.

Only moments later though, David realized conviction alone was not enough to spare him a bloody death. The truth of the matter was this; he could not outrun his pursuers. Already, he was certain he could feel the heat of one of the creature's breath on the back of his neck. Whether the proximity of the creature was truly so, or it was the imaginings of David's frightened mind, it hardly mattered in the end. Swerving around a large tree in hopes of buying at least several more seconds of life, David narrowly avoided colliding with Jorrik. Absurdly, considering the circumstances, he thought of apologizing.

* * *

Jorrik cursed inwardly, using all the control in his body to prevent plunging the sharp twenty centimeter piece of metal he had been holding into his startled companion's throat. Instead, he unceremoniously shoved David aside; fearful the opportunity he had gambled upon would be missed. A heartbeat later, a monstrous shape followed David's path around the tree trunk, braying triumphantly. Jorrik leapt to meet it, his dagger ready before him.

* * *

David watched, shocked, as Jorrik bowled over his pursuer. There was a flash of steel and a warm sensation suddenly blossomed on his neck. Reaching out tentatively to the sudden warmth on his body, David quickly pulled back. His hands were stained with blood. He was still gazing at his hand, still trying to process the fact it was indeed covered in red, sticky liquid, when Jorrik snapped him from his reverie by roughly tugging at his arm. Looking up, David found that Jorrik had added a remarkable shade of red to his clothing; it suited him.

"Come on, David. We have to move." The two began to move once more, their tired legs pumping with what little energy they had left. Behind them, David could already hear the stomping footfalls of another of the creatures closing with them. Jorrik's ambush had bought them several seconds, at best.

* * *

Jorrik ducked a low hanging branch as he continued to race headlong into the unknown, beasts born from nightmares just behind him. He knew this horrifying chase could not go on for much longer and that the imminent outcome did not favor the pursued. David was already lagging, his weakened frame pushed to its limits, and Jorrik, himself, was not doing much better. Abruptly, the scenery changed and in a moment, Jorrik assessed their new surroundings. The thick foliage that had encircled them had suddenly given way to a clearing, the soft earth of the woodland replaced by a shallow stream. The stream was fairly wide, in comparison to its depth, but was broken in the middle by an uprising of earth, an island of sorts. On that insignificant clump of land though, was the most surprising detail Jorrik's eyes had gleaned from his examination. A tent lay perched on the hillock, a small fire burning cheerily before its entrance, and a single figure busying itself around the modest campsite. At the noise from their frantic splashing in the shallows, the figure, a man by the looks of it, looked up and, seeing the two travelers floundering in the water, beckoned to them cheerily to join him by the fire. As one, Jorrik and David yelled out a warning.

* * *

Jorrik's mind was afire with thoughts as he scrambled up the slight incline of the island's bank. "What the hell to do?" seemed the most popular one. As far as he could tell, there were only two options. The most obvious was the typical last stand, a brave show of defiance before they were overrun and hacked to death by the monsters hunting them. The other was that they continued running; hoping that, by some stroke of luck, their hunters would quit their pursuit, perhaps content themselves with butchering the stranger. Seeing as the second option was unlikely, given their current luck so far, and morally disgusting, Jorrik immediately removed it from consideration. That left the first option, which, though morally sound, was equally stupid and just as likely get them killed. Lamenting his inability to avenge himself against fate and fortune, both of whom seemed to hold a vendetta against him, Jorrik consoled himself with the fact he would be able to vent his frustrations on the foes just paces behind him. The thought did not improve his mood much.

The stranger, in comparison to David and Jorrik, had taken the situation quite well. At first, their fellow wanderer had been quite perplexed by the two travelers' seemingly erratic behavior until their monstrous pursuers followed the two into the stream. Understanding came to him like the breaking of a storm, his mind suddenly realizing the gravity of the situation. The mental effect of this new revelation was evident on the stranger's face, obvious shock etched upon his startlingly youthful features. Then, much to both David and Jorrik's surprise, the man had laughed. It was a clear, energetic laugh, filled with a sincere joviality inappropriate for the direness of the situation, and, disturbingly, much too high pitched to belong to a man. That was when Jorrik and David both realized that the man they had unwittingly sentenced to a bloody and horrible death was no man at all.

Standing a full head shorter than both David and Jorrik, the boy stepped forward to meet the onrushing devil spawn, a lovingly maintained longsword gleaming dangerously in his hands. The boy's step was sure and the air of confidence he carried about himself seemed ludicrous in one so diminutive. The fearlessness with which he now faced certain death revealed one of two possible things about him; either the lad had become intimately familiar with death, or he was about to be. Jorrik, knowing that their survival surely hinged on a stalwart defense on the bank, praying that the water would impede the creatures enough to create a decisive advantage, moved to stop the boy from advancing further. He made half a step forward before the creatures were upon them.

As the first of the beasts clambered onto the bank, its snarling visage was met with burnished steel. The stranger, naught but a child, had effortlessly decapitated a monster that towered over the grown men standing behind him. The second beast to reach the bank suddenly found itself slipping upon its own blood and entrails, a vicious cut now present upon its body, absent just moments before. Its dying wail echoed unnervingly throughout the forest.

Seeing two of their number dispatched so quickly, the remaining creatures faltered in their charge, now taking the time to size up this new threat. The monsters' respite was brief. The boy was upon them in an instant, a whirlwind of wrath.

* * *

David, his dagger quivering uncontrollably in his hands, could only watch the fight with a mixture of awe and fear. His companion, Jorrik, stood similarly transfixed, his eyes staring unblinking at the carnage unfolding before them. The child's skill was preternatural, to say the least. He moved through the battle with a practiced ease that would have put the most senior soldier to shame. The boy always ensured that no more than two of the monsters were ever before him, taking great care to avoid encirclement. Every advancing or retreating step the youth took always served to put him just within striking distance of one enemy while all other blows against him could strike only air. Every parry and sidestep the boy performed made a living shield out of one of his attackers or caused it to stumble clumsily into one of their number, fouling any offensive stratagems its comrades had been attempting.

The stream water rose in great fountains around the combatants, disturbed by the fearsome melee. The sparkling droplets of mist seemed to add to the almost mystical quality the battle was taking. Already, another pair of beasts had joined their dead brethren, the water flowing crimson around their corpses. There was a flash of silver and a monster toppled over dead, a thrown dagger lodged deep in its throat. Its dying gurgle was lost amidst the stream's watery murmur.

The remaining creatures fought with a fury wrought from desperation, knowing their survival depended on felling the child, a monster in his own right, cutting a bloody swathe through their number. Yet, for all their demonic strength, the beasts could do the boy no harm. Every one of their blows was either met with a block as solid as a castle wall or turned aside to create an opening in their guard that would be quickly filled with steel. Two more monsters stumbled back simultaneously, great rents in their body spraying arterial fluids. Once their dying screams had finally faded, silence fell upon the area, broken only by the stream's merry gurgle and the breathing of the four remaining figures.

Only one of the monsters remained now; a large, savage looking brute who easily dwarfed his child opponent. Numerous bands, forged of blackened iron, adorned its limbs and grisly war trophies dangled from numerous chains hanging from its belt. A large, serrated blade was gripped fiercely in its hands, the metal of its blade grimy with use. From under a crown of demonic horns and shaggy fur, the beast's red eyes glared hatefully at his enemy, a promise of the violence to come. Had the monster's opponent been any other, even a veteran campaigner, they would have at least respected the killing potential the beast held, its sinewy muscles rippling under the surface of its skin as it postured threateningly. However, the youth merely grinned at the prospect of facing death given form, the cheerful expression he wore contrasting sharply with the ichor dripping freely from his blade and clothing.

With a start, David realized that the child no longer wielded the same blade that he had begun the battle with. The battle had been swift and confused, David only able to catch glimpses of fur, flesh, steel, and blood. Only now, with the remaining combatants stationary, could David properly observe the field of battle. A glint of steel drew David's attention to a freshly slain corpse, currently gracing the stream water with an outpouring of its lifeblood. There, embedded deep within the monster's skull, was the original blade. The sword that the boy now extended before him in a relaxed guarding position was at least a hand and a half shorter than the original weapon, though it was equally well maintained. Against the ferocious might his monstrous opponent could bring to bear, and the sizable reach advantage the beast now had against him, the size of the sword the boy now wielded seemed as laughable as his own minute frame.

At first, David blanched, believing that the child had been accidentally disarmed and now faced a death that was surely certain this time. However, a cursory glance over the field of battle revealed an assortment of discarded weaponry; numerous instruments of death, slick with blood, lay splayed across the streambed or lodged within the body of a foul monster. To say that the lad had been literally bristling with weaponry would almost have seemed understated. Even now, as the boy and monster circled one another warily, David could see a number of weapons strapped across the child's person yet to be drawn. A rather large blade with an outrageously ornamental hilt lay sheathed on the boy's back, and David briefly wondered how the youth remained unencumbered by its presence or how he had ever hoped to draw it from such a position. For the boy to have been able to move with such grace and ease while weighted down by such a ridiculous number of armaments, across a battlefield as volatile as a stream no less, spoke volumes on the level of skill at his disposal. David would have deemed it impossible if he had not just borne witness to the fact; now he did not know what to think of it. In truth, he thought in hindsight, what would he know on such matters anyway. A thunderous roar brought David's attention back to the two combatants.

The monster brought its blade crashing down in a brutal arc, its hate filled scream renting the air around it. His child opponent stepped back, the lethal slash passing just a hand's-breadth away from his face, the attack's energies spent on sending up a spray of stream water rather than a spray of blood. However, before the beast's young opponent could step in proper to deliver a killing blow, the monster pulled back, using the momentum of its body to pull its blade back in a warding slash. The youth was once more forced back, unable to match his opponent's reach. An ugly rasping escaped from the beast's throat, its warped version of a laugh, the monster reveling in the fact that the boy could not get near it. It pressed its attack, taking care to keep a sizable length of its blade between it and its foe.

"Should we step in?" David inquired of his companion, watching the uneven battle worriedly. Jorrik shot him a look, gesturing to the dagger still clasped in David's hand. Glancing speculatively at the weapon he was holding before shifting his gaze to the monstrous opponent the boy faced off against, David sighed. "Stupid question, I know."

* * *

Jorrik watched the battle with interest. Despite his companion's concern, Jorrik was already sure of the outcome. True, the boy's opponent had the advantages of reach and raw power, but the child had the advantage of versatility, and was fearless enough to use it. Even now, as the lad's bestial opponent swung furiously, already braying out its triumph, Jorrik could see the child was in no danger. Every move the boy made was deliberate and precise; fear never a driving force behind his actions. However, the smile the lad had worn earlier had faded, replaced by an expression Jorrik could not place at the moment. Concentration, perhaps?

Suddenly, the boy stepped forward into his opponent's incoming swing, the blow itself likely strong enough to split open an armored knight. With a deft flick of his wrist, the youth realigned the coming blow and lowered his stance at the same time, the sword swing just narrowly missing his head. Instead, the beast's weapon buried itself into the streambed, sending up a fountain of water that obscured the two combatants for but a second. When the airborne water finally rejoined its source though, only one combatant remained standing.

Amidst a field of carnage, the youth stood alone, surveying his last kill. The body of the dead abomination lay sprawled face up in the stream, still twitching with the last vestiges of life, the boy's sword buried up to its hilt within its chest. The lad regarded the fresh corpse with the same expression Jorrik had noted before. Now, though, Jorrik recognized the look plastered on the boy's face. It was disappointment.

* * *

Sitting upon their packs, drawn close to the camp's happily dancing fire, David and Jorrik strived to come to terms with the fact that they were both still quite alive, very much in one piece, and were, absurdly, waiting to be served a hot meal. The nondescript pot which held their future meal was bubbling noisily and, had it not been for the delicious smell emanating from its interior, the incessant noise would have been unbearable for Jorrik and David's frayed nerves. For that single redeeming quality though, the pot was forgiven for its thoughtless transgression against decency. However, what truly held the two travelers' attention was neither their change in fortune nor the promise of a hot meal, but their young host who sat across from them, meticulously cleaning the blood from a number of blades.

The boy had introduced himself as Luther Abendroth, and other than his display of sword skill and geniality, given credence by the warmth with which the boy had welcomed two strangers into his camp, had made no further move to enlighten his guests about himself. After his initial candidness, Luther had immediately started working on purging the stains of combat from his weaponry, seemingly forgetting the world around him in the process. He had not spoken a word to his new companions since nor shifted from his task.

Currently, Luther was stripped to his undergarments; his gore covered clothing soaking in the stream's cool waters. His bare skin and fair hair were still dripping with water, a relic of his recent washing. Silently, he lifted the blade he had been cleaning to his face, inspecting it with a critical eye. After a moment, he smiled, satisfied with his efforts, and lovingly placed the now shining blade aside, placing it within the company of several other similarly gleaming blades. It was not long before another weapon was in his hands, receiving the same loving attention its predecessor had enjoyed.

Jorrik was perturbed by the relative silence surrounding the campsite. However, it felt almost blasphemous to break the quiet, leaving Jorrik unsure of how to proceed. To his right, David sat staring at the hissing metal pot, though Jorrik knew his friend's mind was elsewhere. Their other companion, the boy Luther, seemed content with the silence, his diligence in his task unwavering. Inadvertently, Jorrik's gaze fell upon the far bank, the same bank from which David and he had so recently run across, fleeing monstrous creatures that were both man and beast. Now though, those same hellish nightmares lay sprawled amongst one another, their corpses left to rot on the land they had so confidently tread. Jorrik averted his gaze.

At last, Jorrik could stand the silence no longer, and made his best attempt to break it. His intent was to start up a conversation with Luther, hoping to discreetly probe into the youth's past which, of course, he was greatly curious about. Though such probing would hardly be polite, Jorrik intended to use all the skills he possessed in verbal communication to seem as polite and disarming as possible. Unfortunately for Jorrik, the thought that such underhanded conduct, if discovered, may draw the considerable wrath of his host did much to unnerve him. So, rather than the elaborate and suitably witty inquiry he had in mind, what instead escaped his lips was a rather inelegant and embarrassing grunt. Jorrik cringed inwardly.

At the strange utterance, Luther looked up from his work, a confused expression on his face. Seeing Jorrik, his faced flushed and his mouth still hanging open stupidly, the youth flashed him a smile.

"Patience," he counseled. Jorrik, determined not to look any more foolish, finally found his voice.

"What?" he asked, unsure of what the boy was referring to. This time, it was Luther's turn to look confused.

"The food," he gestured to the pot before him. "It's almost done."

"That's…that's not…" Jorrik trailed off. Realizing his "skills" at verbal communication had abandoned him once again, Jorrik merely nodded, content with Luther's interpretation. Giving Jorrik one final inquisitive look, Luther resumed his work.

After a few moments though, the boy surprised Jorrik by speaking.

"Why're you guys out here?" he asked openly, not bothering to look up from his labor. Jorrik could not help but smile at the lad's frankness, something that he had failed to imitate.

"We're just a pair of wanderers. There is no rhyme or reason to where we go," Jorrik replied, the statement was true enough.

"That explains it. You're not native to these parts, are you?" Jorrik's attention was instantly piqued by Luther's question. Did the boy know where David and he came from? Perhaps Luther would be able to grant them a clue to their origins, a significant step to rebuilding their past. From the corner of his eye, Jorrik could see that the child had garnered David's attention as well.

"No, you are right, we're strangers here," he answered deliberately. "You've got a sharp eye."

"Thank you," Luther replied, sounding pleased with the compliment. Jorrik pounced on the opportunity.

"So, can you guess where we do come from?" Jorrik queried as innocently as he could, but he was sure that there was a definite tone of desperation lacing his voice. Luther stopped polishing the knife he had been working on, the metal of the blade already glimmering, to regard the two men. After a moment that seemed to stretch forever, during which Jorrik was sure he would die of anticipation, Luther finally nodded to himself, as if in affirmation. Jorrik held his breath.

"Haven't a clue," came the simple reply. Jorrik almost wept. Thankfully though, Jorrik was able to keep reign over his emotions and managed to respond with a stiff nod and a forced smile. A glance to his right revealed that David had resumed his exciting task of staring into space. "So… where do you guys come from?" Luther pressed.

"Around," was all Jorrik could come up with, hoping the boy would not feel offended by the curt answer. However, Luther seemed content with this.

"I understand. Guys like you prefer a bit of anonymity, I can respect that." _Quite the contrary,_ Jorrik thought dourly, _I wouldn't mind if a bit more about myself were out in the open._

After the meal, which had been a thick soup of vegetables complimented by the flesh of some animal, Luther had immediately offered to guide them back to civilization. Surprised by the boy's generosity, the two companions had profusely thanked the lad. However, in response to their ample gratitude, the lad had interjected, a little sheepishly, that he had not meant to render his services for free. The three were spared further awkwardness when Jorrik, in an effort to redeem himself for his earlier social ineptitude, interjected that neither he or David had been under such an assumption and that they were both willing to pay for the service rendered. It was an excellent lie with but one flaw; both he and David were practically broke. Of course, the most important thing at that moment had been reaching a haven of humanity; monetary matters could wait.

* * *

The next morning found David and Jorrik on the move once more, but now a third traveler accompanied them. Leading the group was none other than the boy, Luther, killer turned guide. Currently Luther led them through a pathless wilderness, occasionally turning his head to reassure them that they were, in fact, not lost or to answer a query from Jorrik, who had not given up his attempts to glean some tidbit of information from the boy. Having abandoned all subtlety, most likely due to his inability to utilize said skill, Jorrik had opted to use a more direct form of questioning. Thankfully, Luther was not the least bit adverse to the interrogation, declaring that he appreciated the conversation it provided.

"You're a bit young to be wandering out here all by yourself," Jorrik began, batting away a fly that had taken a fancy to his face.

"You think so?" Luther returned, not bothering to turn around this time. Jorrik waited a moment, to see if Luther would elaborate. When it was clear the boy would not, Jorrik decided to press the matter.

"Yes. If you'll excuse me for saying, you're just a child." Luther suddenly stopped. Jorrik, fearing that he had offended the boy, struggled for something to say.

"How old do you think I am?" Luther asked abruptly, surprising Jorrik.

"I wouldn't really know. No more than fifteen, if my guess is worth anything," Jorrik said cautiously, still worried on how to proceed.

"Oh," was Luther's only response. The boy began to move again and, after a moment, Jorrik and David followed. The three walked on in silence.

After awhile though, the silence became too oppressing. However, this time it was David who decided to ask Luther a question in an effort to remove the stifling atmosphere around the group as well as to satisfy personal curiosity.

"You carry many weapons," David stated. "How and why?"

"They're reliable companions," Luther returned, his hand unconsciously reaching for one, as if in reassurance. "As to how I have them, they belong to my family."

"That is not what I meant. I mean, how do you move so easily with all that excess weight and why do you bother carrying it all?"

"Oh. Well, I suppose I'm used to the weight; I've been carrying these blades for a long time." There was a long pause, during which David realized Luther had forgotten, whether on accident or by device, the other part of his query.

"And as to why?" David asked again.

"I carry them in my family's memory," was the quiet reply. The oppressing atmosphere of before resumed its reign over the party. No one contested its return.

* * *

Having retreated within the confines of their minds, a place where they could offend only themselves, David and Jorrik spent the rest of the trip in silence. So consumed were the two in their thoughts that they failed to notice they had arrived at their destination until Luther reminded them, as gently as he could, of their obligation to pay him. At the mention of money, or rather, the loss of it, David and Jorrik both returned from the realm of contemplation and day dreams to find that they were standing before the walls of a town, the entrance to the haven just a brief distance away. At the sight of civilization, and the promises of safety it brought with it, Jorrik and David found themselves in much higher spirits. As the trio approached the town's gates, they were once more speaking with one another. It was well into the afternoon.

David cursed, then cursed again and, feeling that he had yet to voice his full dissatisfaction with his current situation, cursed once more. Next to him, Jorrik was similarly expressing his displeasure while Luther, startled and confused, had his hand on one of his blades, furiously debating whether to draw it or not. Their behavior seemed appropriate considering a fair number of blades, a number growing ever larger, were currently occupied with threatening them. The men wielding the mentioned weapons seemed just as intent at looking as threatening as their swords, their dour faces scowling fiercely at their quarry. A crowd had gathered to watch the confrontation, which, of course, cut off any hope of retreat.

"What's happening?" Luther asked his companions urgently, his hand fidgeting with the desire to draw his weapon. Neither David nor Jorrik could grant him the basic civility of a response as they themselves could hardly come to terms with what had happened.

A man stepped out from the bristling forest of weaponry now surrounding the three travelers, a rather unpleasant smile adorning his features.

"It looks like fate favors me," declared Ansgar Jager. Looking at the surrounding buildings that now seemed wretchedly familiar, David and Jorrik were inclined to agree.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well, here it is; I hope it was worth the wait. This chapter was a lot harder to do then I thought. Mostly it was closing the chapter that brought so much problems but it was also handling the new character, Abendroth. I feel that a prodigy child swordsman seemed a little too unbelievable, but the character has been bouncing around in my brain for too long and I feel he has his place in this story. As you can see, some of the chapter was dedicated in revealing a little more about Luther, but not enough to satisfactorily explain him. That, of course, can't be helped since this is a story, and stories have to have some unknowns in order to be interesting. Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed reading this.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

"Give it up, Jorrik; the game is over," Ansgar declared, his face a grim mask. The witch hunter's travel worn cloak was cast behind him, revealing the weapons he concealed beneath. If this gesture had been made in an effort of intimidation, it was completely unnecessary. With an array of blades hemming them in, coupled with the hostility brimming from every face around them, David, Jorrik, and their confused guide, Luther, felt threatened enough.

Jorrik was not sure of what to do. The pain from the hardship of travel still ached familiarly in his bones and the psychological stress of constantly being pursued still lingered heavily in his mind. Still fresh within his memory were the many sleepless nights he had spent agonizing over the morality of his choice to stand by David. So much effort and sacrifice and now it seemed to have all come to naught. It was infuriating and Jorrik felt the unyielding need to do something, anything, to remedy the situation.

Yet, staring at the impassable wall of steel that opposed them, Jorrik felt about as potent as a field mouse in the current situation. As loathe as he was to let all his efforts, all his thrice-damned efforts, vanish like the morning mist, Jorrik knew he could do nothing. At long last, the chase had come to an end and the hunter had proved victorious.

Jorrik glanced to his side in an attempt to assess how David was coping with the situation. To his credit, David had retained a stoic composure, matching the fierce glares of his captors with indifferent eyes. However, at a closer inspection, Jorrik saw his companion was trembling, if only slightly.

"I'm sorry, David," Jorrik whispered to his friend, unsure of what else to say yet still feeling the need to offer some form of condolence.

"There's no need for that," David answered back softly. Jorrik nodded in reply, though he was unsure if David noticed the gesture.

"Take them now, if you will," Ansgar stated calmly. In response, the trio's captors moved in, the circle of steel tightening ever further. However, the sinister hiss of a blade leaving its sheathe gave them all pause.

"Back off," Luther snarled, hefting the blade he had drawn in emphasis. Had it not been for the swiftness of the event, likely many of the men gathered would have burst out laughing then and there. As it were, a few were already smirking, clearly unimpressed by the display. It would seem that Luther's outburst was having quite the opposite effect he had intended.

"I suggest you put that away, child, before you hurt yourself," Ansgar said, eyeing Luther as if for the first time. In response, Luther executed an expert flourish with his blade and brought his eyes, brimming with challenge, to meet the witch hunter's own.

"You and your men shall keep back," Luther answered testily, adding, "if you want all your limbs to remain attached to your body."

"Put it down, boy. Now!"

"Just keep on barking, old man."

"Stand down, Luther," David said. Luther was about to throw another insult towards Ansgar when he realized, with a start, that it was David who had spoken.

Never taking his eyes of the men surrounding him, Luther inquired, "Why? If you're worried about me getting hurt, you shouldn't be. I mean, you _have_ seen what I can do."

"Luther-"

"If you're nervous about killing people, don't fret over it. I can-"

"Luther!" David interjected sternly. Luther's words died in his throat. "Just do as I say, this doesn't involve you. Do you hear that Ansgar? This boy has nothing to do with us; we met him only recently. Leave him out of this."

"How very _noble_ of you, David," Ansgar called back, his voice dripping with sarcasm as the man's gaze drifted towards Jorrik. "However, he must still be detained, if only for a short while. We must be sure that he has not been tainted with his time with you."

"Tainted?" Luther inquired confusedly.

"You didn't know?" Ansgar returned smugly. "Well, I expected as much. What, did you think I was some kind of common bandit or ruffian? Huh, boy?"

"You carry yourself like one," was the return jibe. Ansgar remained unfazed.

"I am a humble servant of the Church of Sigmar, Ansgar Jager. I am what you call a witch hunter." This time, Luther gave no response.

Jorrik was stunned. True, the outcome of the confrontation could have ended in only one way, but for David to so freely accept his fate? Jorrik was torn between admiring the man's fortitude and cursing him for placing no value on the effort put in keeping him alive. However, before he could delve further into his thoughts, to escape the harshness of the present reality, a sudden commotion drove Jorrik from his musings.

"Luther, what are you doing?" David cried out, any composure he had held before deteriorating in the face of the unfolding events. Luther, once more brandishing one of his many weapons, answered back fiercely, "I will not be disarmed!" Already, several of the swordsmen were sprawled on the ground, blood pouring from wounds rent in their body. David was unsure if they still lived.

"Luther, you have to cooperate, before you get into this too deeply. You can still turn this around," David continued, hoping to calm the boy.

"I'll come with them," Luther responded as he sent his latest opponent stumbling backwards with a flurry of blows, "but I will not relinquish my weapons. Do you understand that, witch hunter? Tell your men to keep away from me, before I get serious." David was about to reply when Luther abruptly stopped. David thought it a miracle until he saw the harsh glint of a blade pressed against Luther's throat.

"Do not move a hairsbreadth, boy, or you leave this world today," the girl said calmly. Luther could not believe it. He had allowed an enemy to exploit one of his blind spots and been defeated as a result, and by a girl at that. What was strange, though, was that Luther was certain he had _no_ blind spots to begin with, at least as far as this battle had went. He would swear by it. For this girl to have read his movements and stepped into his guard so swiftly as to avoid detection, she would have to have been extremely skilled or extremely lucky. Considering what his brief life had taught him about the world, Luther was sure it was not the latter.

"Who are you?" Luther dared asking, his adam's apple brushing against the blade's edge as he spoke.

"Adela," she replied simply. "Now close your eyes and relax before I cut your throat." Luther weighed his options, pride or life? Luther obediently closed his eyes. Without preamble, Adela stepped in and hammered the pommel over her blade across Luther's head. The youth crumbled wordlessly. "You can disarm him now," she said tiredly. The remaining swordsmen moved to finish their task, but gave the girl a wide berth.

Watching from where he stood and weighing the past events in his mind, David wondered what the future might hold for him.

* * *

David, despite himself, winced in pain as his captors tightened the bonds around his wrists. The rope they had chosen to bind him had been far from smooth, and its rough hold on his skin was hardly agreeable. He noted that Jorrik, though similarly bound as he was, was treated with far more care. Such reverent attention was no doubt Ansgar's doing, the witch hunter likely looking out for his former colleague. David forced down any contempt he may have possibly held towards his companion due to their differing fortunes, instead doing his best to be happy about the fact that, despite siding with David, Jorrik may come out of this relatively unscathed. Luther, though, was an entirely different story.

Currently, Luther, their stalwart guide, lay unconscious in the arms of a man that was built like a boulder. For a reason lost to David, the man seemed to enjoy sending hateful glares towards him and made a point to do so as often as possible. Considering David did not want to antagonize his captors anymore than necessary, let alone a man that looked like he could crush David's head like a grape, he kept his eyes averted. Instead, David decided to focus on the boy.

Luther looked much smaller and frailer without his many armaments adorning his body. His weapons seemed as much a part of him as his arm or leg. However, it was those same weapons that may have damned the boy. True, Luther had failed, or, rather, avoided killing any of their captors, but that did not change the fact that he had attacked and seriously wounded all of them. The repercussions of such rash actions, especially considering the company the lad had been keeping, could be devastating. For Luther, David could only hope for the best.

A stirring amongst his captors revealed to David that something was happening, Ansgar's hunting group seemed agitated, snatches of conversation, laced with tension, floating back and forth amongst them. Wondering what could be the cause of such a disturbance, David did his best to discreetly observe his surroundings. A glance down the street answered David's speculations.

Clad in uniforms colored garishly in purple and gold, a group of men, well armed and grim faced, were marching towards David and his captors. Halting just before the witch hunter's task force, the newcomers came to a stiff attention and began to occupy themselves with the task of glowering fiercely at their opposites. Ansgar's men, well versed in the subtleties of social interaction, courteously did the same.

"Who's in charge here?" inquired one of the newcomers, a fierce looking man whose eyes seemed to deny all mirth. By the way he carried himself, David assumed he was the leader.

"I'm in charge of this detachment," Ansgar declared, stepping up to face the man.

"You are disturbing the peace. May I inquire as to what authority you presume to operate under?"

"I am Ansgar Jager, servant of Sigmar's holy church. These men have been requisitioned by me to aid in the capture of a physical and spiritual threat to the Empire. Sigmar's work is of highest priority, and, may I add, you are currently standing in the way of its accomplishment. Now, I ask you, on what authority do you presume to operate under as to oppose the will of Sigmar?"

"I am Captain Veran Segur, of the Gultenheim Watch. We are the enforcers of Imperial law in this town, and as long as you're here, you will defer to us." Glancing over at the witch hunter's captives, Veran, clearly unimpressed, added, "We will decide whether these men truly merit such attention as you have given them."

"With all do respect, _captain_," Ansgar interjected, "it would be unspeakably foolish for a man such as yourself, untrained in the ways of the church, to effectively assess the threat present here. It is of a nature that cannot be so easily cowed with steel and blood. So, stand aside."

There was a moment's silence between the two men, and then Veran answered simply, "No."

"Do not overestimate your importance, captain, or your potency. Stand aside now, or I will move you," Ansgar replied, an undercurrent of anger present in his voice.

"Look at this situation from my perspective," Veran said evenly, as if speaking to a child. "I received a report that there was an armed conflict underway in the merchant's district. Being the dutiful soldier I am, I brought together a couple of my boys and went to investigate. When I did get here, lo and behold, I came across a large group of armed men harassing two half-starved travelers and a boy. What am I supposed to believe?" Ansgar opened his mouth as if to reply, but Veran quickly cut him off.

"Now, there is a chance that you are, in fact, a servant of Sigmar's church and that what you're doing here is truly for the benefit of the Empire. However, there is also a chance that you're lying through your teeth. Living as long as I have, I have learned to trust distrust. Until I am sure that you are who you say you are and that these men you have detained are truly as dangerous as you claim, I will be taking control of this venture. We will escort you back to our headquarters where you will remain until this matter is sorted."

"You're making a big mistake, captain," Ansgar said quietly.

"Then you can gloat about it when this is all over. Until then, be civil and cooperate with us, I have enough trouble to deal with as it is."

"I will be sure to file a report to my superiors about what has transpired today; do not be surprised if you find yourself absent of your rank in the near future. Until then, however, I will cooperate with you, I find this confrontation distasteful."

* * *

The cell was dark and cold, but surprisingly spacious. However, on further contemplation, Jorrik concluded that a prolonged stay in such a room would likely begin to feel more than a little claustrophobic. For now, though, it suited him well enough.

In a cell across from him, Luther sat slumped against the cell's far wall. Though Jorrik knew the boy had long since regained consciousness, one could hardly tell by how he acted. Luther had hardly moved since he had awoken, and the one time Jorrik attempted to speak with him, he was ignored.

David was nowhere to be seen, having been brought to a different room upon their arrival at the Watch's headquarters. For all Jorrik knew, David could already be dead. The thought carried with it a strange weight. Unwilling to dwell on such morbid thoughts, Jorrik decided to once again attempt to speak with Luther.

"Luther," Jorrik called. When the boy did not react, Jorrik tried again, a little louder. "Luther!" Luther did not stir. Jorrik's patience snapped. He was sick of the youth's sulking. "Damn it, Luther! What is wrong with you? Answer me!"

"My weapons…" came the soft response, chocked with emotion. Jorrik was so surprised to receive a response he forgot his anger. However, once he realized what Luther had meant, he remembered his ire.

"Is that why you're sulking? Just because they took your weapons away from you, that's why? Hell, Luther, that's not worth a horse's piss. I thought you might have been hurt, the way you were acting." Much to Jorrik's surprise, Luther looked up and glared at him, eyes filled with fury. What surprised Jorrik, though, was not the lad's frightening anger, but the fact that tears were actually trailing down the boy's cheeks.

"Do no speak of what you do not know of, fool!" Luther yelled. Jorrik, unsure of how to respond, only continued to stare. It was then he remembered what Luther had told him when they had met, "I carry them in my family's memory." Though the words still carried much ambiguity, Jorrik could guess at possibility of their meaning, none of which were pleasant.

"Luther, I-" Jorrik began, but stopped himself. Luther had returned to his sulking, looking to have completely forgotten Jorrik, and Jorrik thought it wise not to remind the boy of his presence. Doing his best to get comfortable on the single hard, wooden bench present in the cell, Jorrik closed his eyes and decided to dream. Dreams were always better than reality.

* * *

David was on edge. He was currently tightly bound to a chair, the ropes constricting both his movement and breathing. Clearly, no one here was fretting over his well being. Also, the position he had been bound in had proved uncomfortable at the start, and David's discomfort with it only grew as time progressed. Unfortunately, he could not so much as scratch an itch, let alone adjust his position. Added to this list of grievances was the fact that his only company was a pair of the witch hunter's lackeys which, regrettably, consisted of the frighteningly stoic girl, Adela and the just plain frightening giant whom David learned was called Gunther.

Not wanting to draw undue attention to himself, David had decided to keep his mouth shut and his eyes downcast. Better to suffer a blow to one's pride in being submissive than a blow to one's skull for being brash. The tactic worked well enough, both of his jailers content in leaving David to his own thoughts while they themselves turned to theirs.

"Hello, David," came a voice. The sound made David jump, his chair noisily rubbing against the floor due to his momentum. However, neither of the witch hunter's men seemed to react to David's sudden outburst. If his captors had indeed noticed David's strange behavior, they were doing their best to ignore it. "Don't make a scene, you're no actor and this is no stage," the voice continued, a hint of playfulness in its tone. David opened his mouth to respond, but then thought better of it. "Good, you're still as sharp as ever. I can hear your thoughts, speak to me in that way." A sense of dread filled David at this sudden revelation. For this being to be able to peer into his mind, what sort of unholy power did it possibly wield? David had a good guess.

A man stepped into his field of vision, but, though the newcomer stood in plain sight, neither of David's guards acknowledged the man's existence. That fact alone was hard to believe, considering the man was dressed in some of the most garish clothes David had ever encountered. Even the Watch's uniforms looked tasteful in comparison.

_Who are you? _David thought, dreading the answer to come.

"I'm the demon inside of you, of course, but you already knew that," the man replied casually.

_Then it's true_, David thought to himself bitterly. All through his travels he had always hoped otherwise, even against all logic he had hoped. It was a stupid hope, he realized, a fool's dream.

"Of course it's true," the man-demon exclaimed.

Then I can reveal your presence here and-

"And what? Have me destroyed? That's why you're here in the first place isn't it?"

After a moments pause, David thought, _Why are you here?_

"To save you," was the reply.

* * *

"How much proof could you possibly desire?" Ansgar exploded, pounding his fist upon the desk before him. The force of the blow splintered the wood, but the witch hunter was not in the mood to apologize.

"I need something more substantial than just your testimony and "spiritual" testing," Veran responded from behind his desk, unperturbed by the fact that there was now a gaping hole in its center.

"It would take ages to teach you what I know of the Dark Powers and their servants, which is why it is imperative that you trust in my experience. The witch hunters were formed by the church of Sigmar for a reason, trust in the wisdom of their actions."

"My friend, we are in Ostermark. Fighting the servants of darkness is a daily occurrence. If it isn't beastmen, it's some upstart cult trying to rise to power. Twice, I have served in the Count's army to bolster the forces of Kislev in the north. I have _seen_ demons, witch hunter. Don't doubt for a moment that I know what I'm doing," Veran replied.

"Ignorance and pride are your chief sins! Can you not see the stupidity of your actions?" Ansgar exclaimed furiously.

"Can you not see the stupidity of yours?" Veran returned. "You are asking me to sanction the execution of a man based solely on your suspicion, a man that, as far as I know, is innocent of any crime.

"It is not just suspicion you stubborn bastard, and even if it was, my suspicion alone should be more than enough reason to condemn him. Is not the welfare of the Empire worth more than the life of one man?"

"The welfare of the Empire is exactly what I'm looking out for right now, Jager," Veran returned. Ansgar looked ready to punch the captain.

Before the witch hunter could satisfy himself with beating the captain's face into a pulp, however, the door to Veran's office opened. A man dressed in the uniform of the Watch stepped in. Veran recognized him immediately.

"What is it, Miran?" Veran queried.

"Sir, we have a visitor requesting to see you," the man responded. Seeing the look on Veran's face, the man added, "He claims he's an emissary from Altdorf and his papers seemed authentic enough."

"Very well, send him in," Veran said, before turning back to Ansgar. "We'll continue this matter later, please have patience." Ansgar looked like he was about to respond when a new voice cut in.

"Actually, captain, I think it best we continue this matter now," declared the owner of the voice, a man dressed in the rugged garb of a traveler and, by the looks of it, had been traveling for awhile.

Ansgar, his interest piqued, asked, "And who might you be?"

"I am Gereon Rankin, of the Grey Order," the man replied. "We have much to discuss."

* * *

Jorrik knew he was dreaming, which, in itself, was a strange occurrence. However, despite the fact that the absence of consciousness should have robbed him of all coherent thought, his mind had never felt clearer. In truth, only in this dream realm, with its ever changing and impossible forms, was he truly awake. Only in this dream realm did he remember.

Numerous runes, blazing with fierce eldritch energy, surrounded Jorrik's dream self. Try as he might, and he tried quite hard and quite often in the beginning, Jorrik could never circumvent his strange jailers. Initially, he had been furious about his entrapment, cursing the mage he knew was responsible, but he had since learned to appreciate the runes' company. The reason for this was; Jorrik had discovered he was not alone in this strange place, and his companion was anything but amiable.

Jorrik heard it before he saw it, just the barely perceptible rumble of a bestial hiss. Suddenly, the runes around Jorrik flared brightly as a nightmarish monster threw itself at him. Slamming massive fists against the arcane barrier, the beast roared in frustration, eyeing the man trapped within with an unholy hunger. Finally, with a last contemptuous blow to the immovable runes, the fiend departed, having spent its fury for now. No matter how many times he had lived through the monster's assault, Jorrik was always afraid; always waiting for when the barrier would finally give and the demon would devour his soul. For that is what he knew the creature to be, the demon from within the book.

Or the monster was at least a part of it. For all its ferocity and strength, the demon lurking within this unreal realm seemed incomplete, almost ethereal. From what he could surmise from the trickle of hazy memories that entered his mind when asleep, an inadvertent gift from his alter self, Jorrik presumed the mage's mind had also taken in a new residence. To reduce an opponent's strength, that was a basic goal in combat, and it would seem the mage was well acquainted with it.

The mage, David Faust was the name that sluggishly came to mind, seemed an enigma, at least as far as Jorrik was concerned. Emotions ranging from absolute hatred to camaraderie and devotion often came to mind at the thought of the man. With his mind split as it was, it was often hard to tell which emotions were truly his, which emotions were truly trustworthy. Jorrik often found himself at a loss as to whether he should curse the man or bless him. As long as these runes held him here, trapped with that monster, Jorrik would never be able to sort the tumult within his mind. In truth, he may be trapped within this limbo for the rest of life, a maddening thought. However, he was Jorrik Moulton, witch hunter of holy Sigmar; despair was not an emotion he familiarized himself with.

It was with thoughts such as these that he heard it, the sibilant whispers of Chaos. While awake, he might have been driven mad at the sound as the influence of the Dark Powers wormed itself within his mind. However, Jorrik was in a far less favorable position. Without the shield of ignorance the waking world provided, Jorrik was directly exposed to the full horror of his mind's violation by Chaos. The only barriers between him and the insanity that is Chaos was his iron hard discipline as Sigmar's disciple and the arcane runes that surrounded him. The vile whispers suddenly became an almighty roar. The runes began to waver.

* * *

Ansgar burst into the room, closely followed by Veran and the wizard, Gereon. The words burning in his throat, though, died on his lips as his eyes took in the scene before him.

Adela lay collapsed on the floor, convulsing violently as Gunther hovered over her, unsure of what to do. The none too subtle entrance of Ansgar and the others quickly drew the big man's attention, and, upon catching sight of them, made to move towards the group.

"Sir, I-" began Gunther, as way of explanation, but Ansgar was no longer paying attention to him.

Moving with a deadly intent, Ansgar quickly crossed the room to where David was sitting, still bound to a chair. David himself was suffering similarly to Adela, his body contorting violently within the confines of its binding, and could not even protest to the witch hunter's clear intent, let alone prepare himself for the oblivion he would soon embrace. Before Ansgar could deliver a killing blow to David, however, Gereon intervened.

Stepping in front of the enraged witch hunter, Gereon raised a hand. Whether the gesture was made in placation or in threat remained unknown.

"Don't let anger guide your hand. Unthinking zeal will do us no good here," Gereon warned. Ansgar scowled.

"This man's the source of this evil," Ansgar shot back.

"This man is the key! Killing him now would avail us nothing."

"Stand aside, wizard. If we execute this man now, we may yet salvage this. This demon would have no chance against us once the proper rituals are invoked."

"Get a hold of yourself, Jager. Have you listened to nothing that I have said? It is unfitting of one who calls himself a servant of Sigmar to be so bloodthirsty," Gereon said, refusing to move from his position. Ansgar turned towards Veran, who had remained by the doorway.

"Segur, stand by me in this, at least," Ansgar pleaded. There was a pause that seemed to stretch into eternity, and then, almost imperceptibly, Veran shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Ansgar. I will trust the wizard's word in this," the captain replied softly, uncharacteristically subdued in the current situation.

"Damn you both to hell! For you have damned the rest of us in turn," Ansgar cried out in frustration. He turned away from Gereon in disgust before storming out of the room, shoving Veran roughly aside when the latter failed to move in time. Veran gave no protest.

Slowly, Veran made his way towards Gereon, who had not moved from his position. Ansgar's words weighed heavily in Veran's mind. There was no denying it now, a demon, a very powerful demon, did indeed reside in the man called David. It was a real threat to his beloved hometown, a real threat to the people he had sworn to protect, and he had been blind to it until now. Worse still, was the fact that it was Veran himself who had allowed things to progress this far. It would be his fault if anything were to happen to Gultenheim. How many deaths would be layed upon his head?

There was still hope, however. What the mage, Gereon, had spoken to them of earlier was proof of this. Gereon claimed that David may hold the key to the demon's defeat, and that the Grey Order was well aware of the situation at hand. Gereon had assured them that everything was being closely monitored by some of the most powerful wizards in the Empire, and that Veran's decision to spare David had not been made in error. Veran desperately, fervently hoped this to be true.

"I pray I'm making the right choice in trusting you, sir," Veran said, upon reaching the man. "I fear I may have made one too many mistakes already."

"You are, good captain. Never fear, and never doubt the word of a wizard, especially one of the Grey Order," Gereon stated. After awhile, Veran picked up the irony in the statement and smiled, but the expression came without mirth. How could he feel joy at a time like this? He had heard, they had all heard, the demon's sinister callings. However, though it would remain one the most unpleasant experiences of Veran's life, it was not the demon's vile cry that had unsettled him so, it was the thousands of voices that answered it.

Glancing at David, Veran could not help but question the veracity of Gereon's statement. Did this man, piteously convulsing before him, who seemed so helpless and vulnerable, truly hold the key to their salvation? _He had better_, Veran thought sourly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

Jorrik found himself sitting in a small room, the numerous articles decorating its interior suggesting its function as an office, with several other people, one of whom was, surprisingly, none other than his companion, Luther. However, the comfort he drew from his comrade's proximity was somewhat mitigated by the fact that the other people within the immediate vicinity were far from amiable. In fact, barring his companions, Jorrik was sure none would have bat an eyelid while taking his life, which, frighteningly enough, was an all too likely scenario.

"Listen," came a rough voice, one which Jorrik immediately recognized as belonging to Ansgar. Jorrik suppressed a shudder, unsettled by the sheer hatred and anger he felt emanating from the man that stood before him now, just barely contained by a thin veil of basic humanity. Though Ansgar had never struck Jorrik as anything but a dour son of a bitch, the level of rage Jorrik felt from Ansgar was unnatural. Clearly the witch hunter was upset, and it was fate's sick sense of humor to have him placed in front of the enraged zealot now, of all times. "I will only say this once, I suggest you pay attention."

Luther gave an unimpressed grunt, slouching down further in the chair he was occupying. Ansgar turned his fierce gaze towards the boy, and, to Jorrik's dismay, Luther returned the glare with equal force. Jorrik suddenly felt the need to stand up and strangle his companion for attempting to antagonize an already angered, murderous religious fanatic who currently held their lives in his hands. He, of course, immediately discarded the idea; more in fear of how Ansgar would react than any camaraderie he might have felt with Luther.

Thankfully though, even Luther's pride had its limits, as the boy eventually lowered his gaze, remembering his current position and cowed by his current helplessness. Ansgar returned to the matter at hand, unfazed.

"Jorrik," Ansgar said, turning to him, "you will accompany me to Altdorf. There you will be cleansed, interrogated about these past events, and tried upon your actions." Ansgar sighed, the sense of fury coming from him diminishing, if ever so slightly. "Though you may hate me as you are now, I sincerely wish the best outcome possible for you, though do not let hope blind you. I suggest you begin preparing yourself for a grueling experience ahead. It will be trying, indeed."

Ansgar turned his attention to Luther, leaving Jorrik to battle with the dark implication of the witch hunter's words.

"Boy, you are to remain at this town's temple under the care of one of its local priests indefinitely. Though Adela claims she sensed no taint within you, I will not run the risk of her being wrong." At this, Luther rose to his feet, anger evident upon his features. However, before he could even protest, Ansgar had already leveled a pistol at the boy. "Give me a reason, and I will kill you," Ansgar stated simply. After a moment, Luther reclaimed his seat.

The witch hunter quickly holstered his weapon and returned to speaking, moving with an almost machine like efficiency.

"Speaking of killing you, I have given express orders that if you show even the slightest signs of taint, and, mind you, it is up to their interpretation, you are to be killed. Also, if you attempt to leave the temple without permission, you are to be killed. If you show any signs of rebellion, you are to be killed. In short, your life now belongs to the church of Sigmar, rejoice in your good fortune." Luther gave no response.

"Well, gentlemen, that is all. Gunther and Adela will escort you to your quarters. Make any attempt to flee, and, I assure you, you will not live to regret your choice. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to."

* * *

Night had fallen swiftly, far too swiftly in Veran's opinion. Currently, the captain of the Gultenheim Watch was busy aiding in the construction of a palisade, the impromptu emplacement a crude attempt at strengthening the defense of the town. Veran and his men had been at this work for hours already, with very little to show despite their efforts. Veran had long since began doubting the actual effectiveness of erecting such defenses, the flimsy material and hasty construction did much in augmenting this opinion, but Veran knew the work could not be stopped.

Every soul in Gultenheim had heard the demon's call as well as its frightening answer. Though very few knew the actual truth of the matter, it did not take long for gossip and superstition to paint shadowy monsters just as terrifying as those that may soon assail the town. Fear was as much a weapon as any blade or rifle, and its effects became readily apparent.

It was not long after that incident with the man, David, that the Watch's headquarters had been assailed by worried townsfolk, all inquiring as to what had just transpired. Any fool could see the effects such fear had on the townspeople, and even the most ignorant of men could feel the tension that had its hold over the town. Veran had done his best to quell the people's fear, but could give no satisfactory answer to their fearful queries.

That was why the Watch spent their efforts on such meaningless tasks as erecting near useless barricades; the townspeople needed the reassurance. Gultenheim was near bursting with tension, and even the slightest incident may provoke its sudden, quite possibly violent, release. The last thing the Watch needed at a time like this is a revolt born of terror. Veran had witnessed enough of those in his time as a soldier serving in the Emperor's army to remember that their resolution could be more than a little messy.

* * *

Gereon sat, cross-legged, upon the stone floor of Gultenheim's local temple, the unconscious form of David, encircled by numerous protective wards and charms, lying before him. The inside of the building was dark, illuminated only by a large circle of candles surrounding the aged wizard. A strong smell of incense completely permeated the area. Besides the small space Gereon currently occupied, the rest of the temple was completely barren. The interior had been cleared, both of furniture and people, at his express orders with, of course, some "coaxing" from the Watch.

Gereon shivered involuntarily. He was an old man, and his body was never shy in reminding him of this fact. His body felt leaden, his joints cracked painfully, and he, as loathe as he was to admit it, in dire need of a relieving himself. However, the task at hand called for his full attention, leaving no time to attend to his body's needs. With will power and discipline, he would banish the cold and the pain, and, of course, hope that he would not soil himself.

Bringing forth a book from the pack by his side, Gereon gently prying open the tome's ancient cover. Taking a calming breath, the spicy scent of the incense filling his nostrils, Gereon began to read. His voice rang throughout the darkened temple, surprisingly strong despite his age and, now, charged with the very essence of magic.

* * *

Ansgar stood at the very center of Gultenheim, sharing a pedestal with a statue of some forgotten hero. From this position, Ansgar was certain all gathered would be able to hear him well enough. Though he doubted that the crowd now assembled represented the entirety of Gultenheim, it was, nonetheless, an impressive number of people. The town crier he had had found and threatened at gunpoint to gather as many people as possible had done his job rather admirably.

Ansgar noted the fear etched in almost every citizen's face, watching with veiled interest the way those gathered huddled close to one another, as if to ward away the very darkness of the night, while whispering conspiratorially. Truly, Gultenheim was brimming with barely suppressed fear.

Ansgar smiled to himself, the expression thin and hard. He was going to unleash that fear.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I suppose one could consider this chapter as a tune up. I have not written anything substantial in so long that, not only does my writing style look different, it has become far less professional.

As stated in the revised first chapter, this story will be taking a different route than originally intended. As cool as I thought it would be to create a story exploring different aspects of the Warhammer world, an author like me just cannot pull something like that off; especially not with the story I ended up making. From now on, I think I will make extensive use of outlines before I write anything… and actually use said outlines.


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